clambering, slowly holding to diaphanous distance,
rising as if called by angels seeding clouds of light;
so does horizon hold my mind with promise resonant.
So far and yet so near when imagination is recalled,
that way of dancing down time, and languorous road,
touch the tips of mighty peaks with eyes half-closed;
so do we travel far, while never truly leaving home.
Vision drinks so deeply of the image born in mind,
that faint conifers call crisply at pure nostrils edge,
and breezes creep with songs of chilling, pure snow;
here and there do not exist when everything connects.