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.

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