by Nick Norwood

    It's all right with me that the promontory rises up
    Like the face of a god. Hills stand still. Stay put.
    We'll make it. And look: a swarm of bees
    Working a bed of wild irises, untended, all alone.
    Up here in this middle of nowhere that is the lost
    Everywhere of the world. See how they fail so sweetly
    To notice us. There's no other garden for them.

    There, now we're here. Notice the sky: waiting
    For us all this time. A gathering of stones
    Big as hogs lounging like cows in a summer pasture.
    And the view: nothing but other hills, the earth
    Wasting its way over the horizon in all directions.
    That lone pine across the ravine casting its dollop
    Of shade. And us, here, wishing we were there.

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