THERE ARE SOME MEN There are some men who should have mountains to bear their names to time. Grave markers are not high enough or green, and sons go far away to lose the fist their father·s hand will always seem. I had a friend: he lived and died in mighty silence and with dignity, left no book son or lover to mourn. Nor is this a mourning-song but only a naming of this mountain on which I walk, fragrant, dark and softly white under the pale of mist. I name this mountain after him. (L. Cohen)