The Hill above the Lake.

I can’t believe the things I’m feeling here.
Bewildered joy infects my cautious heart.
A sudden drop, through spaces far and clear,
and then the bounce, far higher than the start.
We find ourselves unanchored in the stream.
We’ve flung ourselves from harbor to the waves.
But clasp my wrist, and while this tempest heaves,
I’ll hold you; let the howling winter rave.
For there upon the hill above the lake,
there stands a house awaiting to be built.
And board by nail, each shingle, plank, each shake,
we’ll raise our home; a sturdy place. Not gilt
But furnished well with hope and love and light,
We’ll share a place to sleep the starry night.