On rude hills, bare but
- with one huge tree like a pylon,
smooth but with bark-like veins,
stripped of all branch and leaf,
the top clipped
by a lightning bolt
so long ago that there was no pain,
way out and so long
into solitude, deep in-country
sunk in dreams without cares
- the only ones there,
we stood wondering what
we're supposed to do under sky so blue,
into day so fair.
It didn't seem practically natural.
A change in the air. We had crossed into realms
where humans are innocent animals,
tenderly superintending themselves.
We interpreted signs as coincidence,
uncivilized thoughts
into wild drives, and
predictably, we got lost.
When we came to ourselves, we were
so far gone we began new lives.
The cabin that sits underlooking that spot
is the same one we built with our four hands,
and we know we don't own this land. The price
it has paid saving us was dear.
The debt will stand.
We belong to it.
Our credit is good, here. For all this time
and as long as we breathe, and can eat and drink.
We've abandoned all claims upon this earth
except I am yours,
and you are mine.
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