From this rough vision —
From this echoed space of afternoon —
I did not know where we would go.
You hovered over hushed landscapes:
Acrophobic parapets of ancient rock and air flutes:
White string of rivers painting vertigo horizons
In aerial velocities of the spinning sun.
In a flash of the long view,
Fallen climbers arced in slipping grips of passion –
A bone and dust of great distances,
Releasing orthoimages of the eye’s final light.
From moments of the Fall –
Far below, crows drifted like dark gondolas
Along the axon’s drained canal.
From this rough vision,
With a mounting cartography of shadows,
Wind in ending destinies filled a still point of the held breath.
In a flash of the long view,
It was an altitude of grace over the singular afternoon –
It was ending, and it was going to end.
There were last autumn colors getting closer in lines of vertigo horizons –
Advancing detail of landscapes –
And I did not know where we would go.