WATERMARK

You traverse the landscape of the heart, blind. 
Many places are inaccessible, the climb 
too steep, the fall too far. You find yourself 
in unexpected places: the city of lost friends, 
harsh and hostile; the marketplace of favors, 
with its winding paths and high hills.

You feel your way, on and off the depression 
plateau, up and down the mountain of abandoned 
expectations. A journey of scents and sounds, 
the touch of dry wind on your bare arms. Always 
the seduction of the bells, ringing, ringing, just 
a few steps away, just out of reach.