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hills to climb
Folder:
bridging poems
"hills to climb"
A figure counted once,
standing where the verge breaks open.
Word intact, meaning thinned,
a marker left upright by habit alone.
Grass leans in, listening.
Its tilt becomes direction,
though the ground beneath it
slides in its own quiet argument.
Your craft appears sideways—
a pattern caught in the corner of vision,
not quite bird, not quite glimmer,
something that knew how
to move without witness.
Kindness travels the low path,
choosing its turns the way water does,
touching stone, root, fallen branch,
never asking which part
should be remembered.
Faces drift to weather,
voices soften to grain,
yet a nearness lingers,
unclaimed but steady in its place.
The ridge circles back.
Old lines rise with it,
not to conclude,
only to continue the climb.
.
