God put the Cougar on the Mountain
To be the organist
Of the cathedral-shaped echoes.

Her screams play the hollow cliffs, the brinks
And the abyss.
Her music amazes the acoustics.

She lifts the icy shivering summit
Of her screech
And climbs it, looking for her Maker.

A crazy-gaze priestess of caverns—
All night she tries to break into heaven
With a song like a missile, while the Moon frosts her face.

All day afterwards, worn out,
She sleeps in the sun.

Sometimes—half melted
In the sheet-flame silence—
Opens one jewel.