Leaving hills

Kings of the world, raise your great white heads and laugh. I look up the blue-vaulted sky around me and I see you. I see you all, from east to west, a wall.
Long after, when I’m leaving, you recede at a stately grace. Down from your head to your chest I slide, along winding roads I descend. Clouds below me part, and re-form above me, far above me. There I was, by that crag, on that cliff…but its already ten minutes in the past, and I’m leaving your presence. A fall.
Now I descend to your knees. The folds of your skirt undulate slowly, surely. Down them I slide inexorably.
You’re gone now, a few miles to the east. An unending wall of dark grey, black. Clouds far up your slopes, hiding your face, like frozen breath. You will become ghosts soon, then a distant outline, like a myth at the margins of that road. Far along the horizon you’ll form the dream line to your echoing magic kingdom.
Kings of the world, I close my eyes and remember your proud heads of snow.

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