The Step

This at the end of things -
this wide blue vault
where the road peters,
the rose-pale strip of it resists
my feet, grass-tufts grow
more plentiful and pale-pink shells
are scattered where the path
stops, becomes impenetrable rock.
No marker can be seen
although I shade my eyes
against the clean bright light
dividing god's abode in bars of gold.
'So where to now?' I hear my
familiar enquire.
I shrug and look from right to left
and on to mounds and gullies
rocks and sand 
foothills beyond, rising into height.
'There is no direct
route to nowhere' I reply
and look down at my hand
wonder if it can 
stand to bear me further
for the lines are deepening.
Well do I know the road behind
its pitted pockmarked trail
of weave and doubleback
its water lack
its leagues of undulating shell
in contribution to my ear
gritted the silence as I walked from there 
to here where the wind, rising,
greets us now
fresh from mountain snows
hits our faces full-on bringing 
vision green and alpine
coldness to this plain below.
I decide on one 
step from the path 
to the side -
immediately the grass, soft loam,
and step again, move faster
as the leagues of green 
rising meet our eyes,
I step again and hope to dream,
and take her hand, 
and hope my hand can take us home.

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