I beheld you gleaming
in tangerine tendrils of sunset,
an ivory altar long obscured
within drumming canyons
and I made my way.
Pleasantries were the birds singing
at dawn, when I reached you,
dithering notes slinking cross your form
and through your raven hair
whispered, “come, you doting fool,
indulge and worship
when I arrived,
I dropped my reason and
the trail behind me disappeared
as I fell smiling into your
Shangri-La valley.
