On my eighth birthday, I saw a complete full-sky double rainbow and thought it was about me. All summer I ran through the sprinkler for more rainbows on the lawn. At twenty-four, I crawled through tunnels from cave to cave, fearing a burst of bats. No subterranean rivers. No Styx or Lethe revealed subconscious secrets. Honestly, I was relieved to surface and breathe. After my thirty-third birthday, I climbed Mt. Fuji. At the base, a black sky deployed meteors. At the peak, a gray sky dropped hailstones. No summit sunrise in the fog. No guru. Only numb tongue and cold bones. Ice and pumice. Obsidian and obstinance. Published in Hermes Poetry Journal