Dependent, bonded, true:
I am to you.
No maiden fair, but fairly made,
Adored but unadorned, as aspects fade;
Our link unbreakable, it seems,
As far as reckless dreams
May be; harder than time,
Deeper than the blinding cold,
This puzzling, fearsome climb,
Failing, falling, finding
You above, beneath, behind,
To guide my awkward flight,
I leap, oblivious of altitude
Or attitude,
Errant landings, or proper treason
Of my bones; despite
The glory of the sky’s bright charms
I range no further than the reason
For your smiles, the answers in your arms.

Anita Hunt
March 24, 2007