Desi Ana Sartini

i lift my eyes to the hills

the hills rise

each one leaning

on the shoulder of the next

to peek gently through the window

of my sick room

so close

so far

they give intrigue to the skyline

beauty to my bed-bound day

hope to my heart

though they know me not

nor I them

for in truth I see not the hills

but their rolling green garment

except in a few places

where their joints show through

the trees tell a story

a tight broccoli canopy

the glorious crown of a healthy root

in rich soil

well-watered

drinking it all in

what about you

oh hills

my gentle window friends

what story do you tell?

how long have you stood there and reached for the sky?

what treasures do you guard

and secrets have you kept

through ages unknown?

do you remember the touch of your Maker?

what groanings have you suffered

as you await the day of the great Revealing

when the well-rooted will receive their crown?

Desi Ana Sartini writes from SE Asia, where she has immersed herself in language. She studies  Malay literature by day, Hebrew poetry by night, and cake-making on the weekends. You can read more of her work at www.breathanddust.com.