Things not Seen (Or, An act of attempted poetry)

I remember our time
On the mountain
And all I could see:
Sheltering bays and safe harbours
Warm valleys extending their welcome.
Unspoken futures,
Undreamed of possibilities,
Distant dangers.
And you at my side,
Staring at your feet.

— I want to go home, you said
There’s nothing to see.
(Could you not even look up
And see me?)

There is no use for nostalgia
Of roads not taken or things not seen.
I climb on.

But I confess: I remember
Our time
On the mountain
With you at my side,
Staring at your feet.

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