Over the years, soles seeking counsel
Have pounded their wishes into this sun-baked trail,
And mixed, at the foot of this stone-faced governor, wishes with soil,
So that eon after eon, they sprout and, as now, signal us up the slope.
Let’s climb till our dirty soles are gladdened and light
And we trend blind beyond the peak’s tree line, to where
Tundra, mountain birds, and clouds shade the earth.
Climb north with me to where God is felt and not feared;
To where no brand of strife shall knock us breathless,
Not even Ares, with Fear & Terror bearing down on us;
Yet, if he springs breasted in gold off a vainglorious cloud,
Let the ass land on your horns. Let him learn to fear war;
And Love, post him home without a single speared heart.
For, with a Capricorn’s tenacity,
More than temples craft you in the air with those gentle fingers
Known to caress the natural peaks and valleys you value,
As I value the acquaintance of each,
And all we together produce.
Lover, find me your light at great height, despite proximity to the sun, And
Use me as your sabre, though your deft hands could fashion a metal one.
And in our old-fashioned home, so I’ll remain, from Imbolc to Samhain,
Prepared to spark and sustain the hearth where our heart-fires burn,
And where the purling stream enlivening our dream quenches the land.
Later, you may take heart as you crisscross those nappy valleys,
For I am fortified within an old-fashioned home of stone
And from the lookout, I,
Helpmate, will tend our flock till retiring within your arms,
Where we’ll rest like cloud curtaining moon.