Jumping Dover

The white cliffs in the sky,
Like jumping Dover
I brush past crags and falls
to see what sleeps
on the other side.
These massifs are no
least immense,
no more of rock,
than these children
we scrape our knuckles on;
heights made from mist
I search out footholds
in the rolling white
wistful cliffs.

Dust Could Never Cover You

This rain we take to be
Stone's dew,
Is never said
To hold my own.
For you I shed it gladly,
And with long fingers
Create the tracks
Of dust,
I've stored for --
This long long time.