how human our limits
that stonewall the old
when back-lit in turquoise
sage-pink and gold
we step fast from old steps
reject habitations
rooted in ivy and lichen and mould
to stretch long through wheat fields
and sing clear to blue peaks
as windmills sift slowly
the breeze that our throats seek
while temperatures rising
drench soft cloth and salt skin
as rugged the weary
pass mountain and memory
to pause at The Cross.
city slowness 