our compass stands at a still.
we’ve gone as far as we can go
and our eyes adjust –
slowly, at first
then with love.
the height of our world,
its northernmost peak feels like
a unique celestial entity unto itself.
it isn’t perfect,
but neither are we.
we are broken and bruised;
we are repairing, healing,
growing.
weather is imperfect,
there is ice in the warmth and
flowers hidden under the snow.
surreal.
mystical.
we make a space
for our discovery
quietly in our hearts,
etching memories into our skin
for a place that existed before
even if it has only just become
our home.