At the end of the road
a dirt track zig zags up the mountain
into the clouds of unknowing.
To be here you must leave there
(wherever “there” is),
defying the gravity of your own importance,
the unfaithful way this busy world offers itself to you
and the blindness of a life without a horizon.
As reception fades to one intermittent bar,
contact with the outside world is all but
under this wide sky
to a wider conversation
worthy of the landscape of your soul.
Shy shadows come out from their corners,
ears hear a silence splinter granite rocks;
the lies and excuses you’ve told yourself,
and eyes are renewed by a soft gaze
as outlines become clear.
In this place,
words are surrendered to the wind,
to the arriving of your breath.
Andrew Norton 2016