Jots and Tittles

Climbing hills to their summit

to see as far as I dared,

the ends of the earth

how they tilted and swayed

and buckled

under the weight of my stare.

I stacked worlds of words into towers,

tried to swallow as much wisdom

as a poor stomach

could hold,

went hungry to fathom

the depths of need

a parched savanna held,

its winds billowing soft

against my aching,

cracked skin.

I walked,

stretched out miles of longing,

condensing them inside

lidded dixie cups,

opened arms wide

to embrace the lonely,

fantastic, incomprehensible depths...

wandering, wondering,

though not enough time

is all that can be found,

the same sweet scent I left

in the salty creased

lines of your finite hands.

There is nothing more

than can be learned

from the shallow wind

that carries you away from me;

the swift crimson spread

against a perfect

clear blue sky.