he comes from huddled huts
from mountainsides
center of the world
smokes, drinks, abstains
free form yet closes
onto himself
like nightshade
rolls into my path
my hardened armadillo
his armament
protects me from
cutting winds
when i climb with him
fly to him
i have a feeling
of free falling
no edging, skirting
no margins
no borders
assured, always
beautiful & blind
he is holding my hand
as we fly
