the window

i know this view like a vivid memory.
i have stared off, still and ponderant
through many sacred mornings.

i have seen God in your rustling.
witnessed the majesty of creation
in your complexity.

just a handful of thin little trees,
a smattering of fire-tinged leaves
still clinging.

this view has been my constancy.

through the rise and fall of seasons,
the fumbling about of this
tennant's desires,
you stand and have stood -
resolutely attesting to the
untouched beauty of nature.

my hilltop where one cannot exist,
my solidity where it is needed.

you pause and wait for me
to return, once I've allowed enough
space into my buzzing about - ready
to stroke the side of my face
and brush back my hair.