Calypso on the East Ridge

I have flown on feet of snow
Beneath the fir trees, above the catacombs of roots
And I have met you in a sudden squall
You who would keep me in place and cause me to say,
“There have been no years.”

And I have not known your peace since Westhampton
(There, I wept for joy besides the Lake,
Despite knowing I could not go back)
Where we washed ourselves of sin by the pine boughs and sandy shore
In full view of the student commons.

But I must return to my wife
And the Golden Gate Bridge
Which, while not as grand as I remember, is grand still
Grand enough to make me pause and wonder
What luck was it that first brought me here to Ithaca.