I was wondering if, towards the end,
faith's compass had failed you?
Whether its bleak north proved illusory
(the needle going haywire
in some terrible
re-configuration). I hope not.

I hope it stayed true to its promise
(though trembling as those needles do);
that what met you there vindicated utterly
the journey towards that which you'd divined
on your peninsula
(as near to heaven as could be without touching)

or in your verse: those chiseled, austere,
persistent attempts to explain the unexplainable;
views now deemed, at best, 'old hat',
precisely because of that!

Perhaps, though, you'd found it all along.
The journey not the destination being the point,
in perfecting your art you perfected yourself,
knowing:
"that that little is more than enough. "