The ruin is a corner structure on a hill,
a spire, the breath fought for, summit.

Your on-going return, the flow height
of the national river swelling. The texture

light burning through atmosphere gives
to the sky fuses image to retina.

Keep talking. Keep me talking. Tell me
again the ways unison can be discordant,

I’ll show you the feel of the watched past,
how atmosphere is particular to place

but translatable. This internal response we’re
learning signs for. Your weightless motion.