I am the map you strive so hard to read.

I am the staff conveniently found

near the dangerous crossing.

I am your boots and

the dust on your boots.

I am the high breeze bringing

ice air from the mountain.

I am the castle keep of your destination.

I am the coracle upon the fearsome wave.

I am the dragon rising from the deep.

I am the petrel wheeling.

I am your tiny knife,

your one drop left of sweetwater

against a terrible thirst.

I am your sextant

as I am your star.

I am the dawn in this unfamiliar place.

I am the glory paths you see

from sun through clouds to streets below.

I am the coming rain.

I am the night without dreams

in a strange bed.

Pilgrim,

when you return to tell your story,

all your tales shall be of me.

Even in your loneliness and fear,

even as you stop to wipe your brow,

I preen in all my dangerous beauty

before your eyes.

You are my adventure

Through Myself.