In the unshaded hill
where you kill
every day I have climbed
for a glimpse of you; below me
all the earth turned
in the searing wind,
its abrupt blast
at a bend in the road
where I approach the summit, shining
wind, where you live,
cloaked in your cruel and victorious
nimbus of fire, floating, suspended
someplace out past
kissed by a speech beyond words —
beholding themselves in the sun.