In the Flatirons' Shadow

you would like it here
inside my porch light
beneath the mountains’ shadows and the overgrowth
out of sight
beyond the revelers
holding our candlelight vigil
for no one else
but you
whenever you are due
then I’ll pick you up
and we’ll walk my sloping cottage floor
out my kitchen door
hiking the back alley to Chautauqua
into the the rock-red Flatiron foothills
and wait until we get to the peaks to kiss hands
looking over the littlest city I’ve ever heard
embracing our thank you for coming

for the smell out of vistas