Into the Folds of Me

This place
this place that burns me
with a name,
the quiet sigh of golden field
and pale lilac sunset clouds.

All these hills do
is climb gently into the folds of me,
ripples that span lifetimes
and bloom gently
when pressed by trodden foot
into crop circles
and tilled earth.

Stalks askew,
I leave paths for you to find.
Through time you must puzzle
us together again.

I do my part,
limited as this flesh has left me
in these burning hills,
to rip a veil from the space between us,
from this separation I have imagined.

How cruel,
in the face of this beauty,
that absence is what
our minds would birth.