No such place

There is no such place as Mnt Catherine,
which rises, in oil (or acrylic) beyond roofs.
There are non-existent trees growing
in incomprehensible soil, because is it not
(and yet it is)
The great peak is purple (with love's wound...
I digress)
and yellow-orange shrubs, because it is autumn,
sprout like stars among the long legs
of taller plants.
Like Vesuvius she sleeps,
but a lighter, shallow-sea sleep
which occasionally
coughs in half-dream
and heats the vultures overhead,
but only for an hour
because the sky forces sand into her eyes,
and still, now,
she cries like a statue
without sound.