When I Return
When I return
My fondness won’t fall short.
And though stiff joints and weakened calves will surely slow me,
Straps tenderising rounded shoulders and lungs fit to burst,
My resolve, I’ll will to remain.
And we’ll hug like old friends,
The red rhyolite; bone dry,
forgiving and welcoming,
But demanding my unsullied attention
in marshalling me northwards,
By buttress and crack line
companioning my revelation,
With firm footholds, familiar and long standing,
Our common trust re-joined.
And then rest,
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