A lonely landscape without a scrap of forest
for a shield against the barren exposure of sky.
The elevated plains were scrappy with brush,
rising to volatile shelves of red rock.
Grey clouds gave way to distant mountains.
Their peaks were never without snow,
even at the height of summer.
She closed her eyes and tried to conjure
the murmur of the waves. Or perhaps birdsong at twilight.
That was where she belonged,
nestled between woods and water.
Not in this land made for giants,
where fears pooled and frenzied
without the comfort of boundaries.
A person could only love such a place if they were born there.
"You," he said.
"Me," she shrugged.
"I didn't think you would ever..."
"Here I am."
Perhaps she would never love that place.
But she could love him,
a man birthed and raised under stars that were so close,
they could burn fingertips if you reached for them.
