I have not yet seen the mountain’s face

In another life I asked 
         the mountain to show me its other face, 
the one that looked away as swarms 
         of helicopters that looked like dragonflies
lifted the dead away from our earthquake-
         ravaged city. It didn't speak, even as
houses tumbled down the length 
         of its green skirt, and the entryway  
to veins of gold and copper snapped 
         shut like fish jaws. We spent 
the first week camped out on tarp
         and plyboard, listening on the wind
for any sound of the animals coming back.
         For a while, nothing but the drone
of flies growing louder. And then one day,
         the blue croak of a heron. The old
gurgle of frogs, night birds repeating lines
         they were given since the beginning of time.