hours have we traveled
and toiled on sore feet,

miles have we moved
with kinked-up backs
and rough-cut hands,

years have we labored
with tired hearts and aching minds,

through the burning
suppression of the soul,
shackled and shamed;
pushing through this perdition,
passing as penitent
through this purgatory,

boots sticking hard
in the festering swamp of solitude,
or resting near the doorstop
of the holy haven of solitude;

the once bright and shining,
the sprout-seed, the storm-sailor
floats now over the sifting wastelands,
over liars, thieves, and kingdoms,
over fates, feasts, and famines;

the final card is turned
and it is Death reversed –

but

when you touch me,

the flowers of spring bloom
upon my skin,
the thunders of summer roll
across my form,
the winds of autumn whisper
in my ear,
the snows of winter pile
upon my peaks;

when you speak, the earth is silent.

and when you look at me
with eyes that have seen too much
and not enough,
eyes deep and clear against the world,
eyes always horizon-bound,
when you look at me
with your eyes –
wells of dreamwater
fed by heaven’s rivers –

i am resurrected
i am unbound
i am weightless