far from the white, sweeping houses

these wide and tall houses,
you measure with resolute arms,
the stakes of an enclosure,
mountains frozen to stillness
we are open-mouthed, stunned
at the point of wondrous ignorance,
as if your hands could push away,
what dug in our hearts, as heavy
as horses' hooves lame and impatient
but the thunderclouds are miles away,
we wear the smoke and dust, the canvass
is still as dry wind; we are on our way
lost to a crowd of dark vision,
just before the incline of awakening