This Position

If your tired feet should falter on the stone,
I will not run ahead to claim the crest;
No summit won is sweet if reached alone,
No harbor welcoming without your rest.

When shadows thicken on the narrowing trail,
And night forgets the promise of the dawn,
I’ll stand as quiet shelter to the gale,
Until the sharpness of your fear is gone.

Match breath to breath; let heavy miles divide
Around our shared, unyielding tethered grace.
I cast no hurried glance to turn the tide,
Nor leave your shadow in an empty place.

Walk slow, my love, or stumble if you must—
I match my stride to yours, in blood and dust.