On this mountaintop, I can see for days. The eucalypts twist in the heat and press their scent into the palms of the wind, and the clouds turn their faces to the sun. I can see sheep dusted like icing sugar in the dry dead grass. I can see the spires of the cities bouncing light back where it came from. And I can see you. You are wrapped in a dust cloud, storming behind your sturdy thoughtful face. I can hear the life buzzing in your chest, blowflies and big ideas. Here in the sky I am perched on the tower of Babel, watching this confusion of tongues rattle through the night, bouncing off faces and falling into translationless laughter. I am far away and silent and looking at your face and liking what I see.