Upon the open hill she stands,
Alone with the descending sky;
A quiet breath, and gentle hands
In placid stillness, hold her high
Above the strange weight of it all,
Suspended just before a fall,
The nearest depth fills in the holes,
Through open skin, unfolding soul.
In all the vast wild space she knows
That no one else in listening
She feels the great grey roll and flow
As soft as their soft whispering.