From overhead see
horses run across the newer ridge
where old houses strain under
strokes of raining.
Still this drone-view moves through
weather fleeting like the pain
of prior lives.
On the rise a girl sings
almost out of hearing, selective
as to notes and words selective
as to meaning allowed to carry
over wet air too slow to catch
in a sky-road too fast to hold
above this brief country.
But standing-back peels
an onion, probes the veil of those
small places, paints horizons with
a name that trades the nearness of you
for pointillism far removed
from iota, begging the question
of how far back to stand.
Image Credits: Great Himalaya Trails