meringue mountains
the black peaks sport a smooth white mantle
glossy in afternoon sun
the texture of whipped egg whites
not yet baked to toasty brown
cornices stretch along ridges
like pulled marshmallow cream
from here the slopes seem airbrushed smooth
but put yourself there
stung by angular crystals
blasted by wind with nothing in its way
all sculpted and smoothed
by a chisel and hand
we’re too small to see
