The brilliant sun splashed against our faces as we ascended the ancient ruins of Pisac. Fields protruded from the mountains scowling face, perfectly patterned as if steps for a large celestial being. Breathe quickly became hard to come by as the altitude introduced itself forcefully to our lungs. The mountain breeze offered temporary relief from father sun as we broke for water prior to our final ascent. Their we stood, looking over the vast sacred valley below, absorbing millenniums of lifetimes through our congested nostrils. In awe of such beauty we felt the only way to honor such a sight was to pose for a picture, with our butt cracks taking center stage.

We’re on 84 east. The gorge sits north, off to the left. The dogs are sleeping on the floorboards. You are driving, and the sky is true blue. We pull over and I take the wheel, and you are watching the water of the Columbia, the mountains and tunnels and tracks all around us. The road is bright and full of beauty. We pull off into the Cascade Locks, where I pay the dollar toll and we cross The Bridge of the Gods, watching the river and small islands, the shores of Oregon and Washington. A flash of light and we’re sitting in the coffee house in Stevenson, laughing and sipping hot coffee, the dogs outside running the alley, the long sweet day of summer. It’s the first time I’ve actually seen what your face might look like in human form, and it’s so beautiful it’s almost unreal. The sun reaches in the window and streaks the table top, our hands upon each other’s, the taste of life in the air. Your eyes are upon my face, and I tell you about New York City. Your laugh and your words, your nose peppered by the sun, your eyes deep with stories of home. You lean across the table—

“STANTON. COME DOWN FOR 15 MINUTES UNCLASSIFIED OUT-TIME.”

The lock was thrown. You weren’t there. I was in a concrete cell. I dressed awkwardly. I stood by the door and waited for the lock to be thrown. I saw A.J. and Pussei down there, and the guy from Booking who’d been in the bar fight, whose last name was Hookes. The lock disengaged and I walked out and down the steps for the first time, and the windows of the cells were full with faces.

When it's cold and raining,

you are more beautiful.

And the snow brings me

even closer to your lips.

The inner secret, that which was never born,

you are that freshness, and I am with you now.

I can't explain the goings,

or the comings. You enter suddenly,

and I am nowhere again.

Inside the majesty.