The wind keens at my back,
a vibration in my ribs

as the hill guides my steps to you
where the clouds are gathered,
a crown,
the water,
leaded glass stained
emerald, gold,
spread beneath us,
and the stones rise and fall
serpentine
the spine of the land.
But you must be there
waiting
so the wind and I keep on,
the hills guiding, pushing,
I’m coming.
Please wait.
I’m coming.