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.