I lie where life should perish fast, Yet in my bounds, green shadows last. A mirror born of desert’s sigh, Where weary feet and camels lie. What am I?

I am not a common word, But I am a common way to get from place to place, More specifically, from rock face to rock face, Or how a bridge may span a gully. My head and tail are a beloved alien, in reverse, My inner is a group of party animals, aglow, And my whole form kinda rhymes with, the line two lines ago.

I’m carved in an arrow to guide a clean release, or named where mountains briefly cease.

Deep in the jungle I am there waiting for your gradual dare

I sit inland and mirror mountains. Rivers come to me; some leave, some don’t. My waves are quiet, my winters solid. A few of my kind are called Great. What am I?