Out on the trail founded by a hundred thousand steps 

of beasts and beat-upon men do I wind,

ill-received and undeserving, under then among then above

a roiling cloud face rippling from sneer into filmy impassivity,

concealing there a patient darkening presence.

Even here am I watched, ever here does it wait.

Out in the rain and among lone glories in a naked earthen sea,

within the sun at set and wind at rise do I sense

a growing lack, maybe there in the shadow of the fallen pine,

now maybe there in the groaning branches in mossy bondage,

an approaching nothing, like the nearing labored breathing of the mare,

burdened yet freer than me alza el vuelo do we silent partners climb.

Out in the roaring mist of the summit comes one

who is always arriving, who I never meet but always know.

High above in the tectonic song of ancient fire wails a threat

only I can hear calling back through time a vision blinding.

Within the joy of rest and divine affection of nature do I stare into the black

at the formless beast that need not follow as it here remains, 

that need not seize what it already owns.