I'm thinking of the edge
The words you so cut to form
The critical eye that captured every detail
I marveled at the brilliance
of the most mundane
you raised to glory
One
. . . two
. . . . . . three
I relish the dark
secure in my isolation
I am left to my own
Godly imagination
. . . my magic carpet that takes me back into my past
to those moments good and bad , sweet and sour ,
etched into history , words chiseled into stone

The most isolated city in the world
Only fitting you would plant your roots and thrive
. . . one
. . . . . . two
. . . . . . . . . three