The cold river flowed into a cavern
At the base of the mountain.
 
The mountain was ancient.
For longer than the lives of mortals
It had not poured forth the earth-fire.
 
A people, now extinct, had built a pyramid
Inside the mountain.
Their long-forgotten tales and spells
Were carved into the smooth stone passageways.
 
Somehow the wind had lost itself
Inside the pyramid, inside the mountain.
It whispered the secrets of the pyramid-builders
And laughed at they who had made the mountain holy.
 
A glimmer of light from the latent earth-fire
And the phosphorescence of the walls
Exposed the shadows of gods in pools of darkness,
Dancing idols mocking, always eluding, a candle.
 
Down one long passageway the murmur
Of rushing water deepens to a roar.
Cold, still water revives itself
Tumbling over salty diamonds.
 
As the river emerges, the secrets of the mountain
Are left in tense solitude and anticipation.