I stand a silhouette not tall
grown out as wishing as brother trees
wondering if the fog will claim me
or if the gold will evaporate the potential claim.


On the oldest horizon I,
climbed up to the point where small meets the sky
to hear an answer
and know the relieving fire in the burning mists
of perpetual eternity.


I have not thought how to carry the information back down,
nor, once in the terra clouds, if it won't disappear
as much clear logic does in the moisture of life
returning to work and the burden of telling.


But here I have witnessed the swirling tales,
felt the caressing scarves of fortune,
and believe that having shared any time with a loved one's dying
that the strongest test is awaiting the message.