You think yourself bored,
sent again and again to the same
three descents, three biomes
adjacent yet nearly unique,
sharing no trait but the stray butterfly.
You balk at repeating the circuit
from bird to temple to peak,
at finding yourself shut out from the sky,
the landscape unchanged but layered
with story and trial.
You sigh when returning to vistas
familiar, no new map to pen itself
thanks to your wander.
But here I am still, thrown back
through the gate, barred and guarded
by temple and time in an eons-long wait for you.
