The pursuit leads
The pursuit feeds;
The landing still,
I beckon and remember my need.

Remembrance of an unformed past,
Followed up by a forging forecast,
One last face in browning grasses that passed,
A reformulation from a lake's surface.

Engorging in the middle of trees,
Dreaming of deserts that will be,
To be here, afoot in great glee,
Temporary as it might end up being.