The words climb slowly
To where we are already.
Here.
Now.

Standing on this ridge, I turn and see you,
Also seeing sky and earth anew.

The windway playing with the leaves
The fine light on the edges of the trees,
Falling to broken beauty on slopes to rivers, far far down.


Words follow us. They have to.
We are there before them,
But they do not know their place.

They puff up right beside us, Apologise for being late,
Look briefly into our eyes.
But then try to overtake.

Look there look here and think of it like this.

They think they know

With guile, place ornate frames around the view.

But I still see you.