We couldn't tell if it was a fire in the hills Or the hills themselves on fire, smoky yet Incandescent, too far away to comprehend. And all this time we were traveling toward Something vaguely burning in the distance -- A shadow on the horizon, a fault line -- A blue and cloudy peak which never seemed To recede or get closer as we approached. And that was all we knew about it As we stood by the window in a waning light Or touched and moved away from each other And turned back to our books. But it remained Even so, like the thought of a coal fading On the upper left-hand side of our chests, A destination that we bore within ourselves. And there were those -- were they the lucky ones? -- Who were unaware of rushing toward it. And the blaze awaited them, too.