These distant mountains speak

[ArtyFl]

(I really don't have a title for this. Titles are not my strength.)

These distant mountains speak
in tones too low for the living to hear.
Winter snow,
nestled on peaks
and crags,
is a single syllable --
a soft vowel sound.


I cannot hear the language  
of these mountains,
though I listen,
my bare feet
on stony soil,
my lips wet
with glacial waters.


I sometimes hear the echo
of those words
in the footfalls
of a cottontail rabbit,
in the hissing of a
rattlesnake hiding
in the tall, summer grass.  

This seems like a very nice and natural poem about a place you either think about or live in or have visited. I think it is good that you acknowledge the fact that you are not too good at coming up with titles. This should probably be something you think deep about after writing the piece. A few words of what this poem really means to you would be a good start.