When you are in Cyrene forging Phaestus knows what,
And I am looking over the North Reach in my leafy home,
Does my breath travel the wind, my whisperings fly like doves
To greet your ears?

When burrowed deep in the loamy earth dodging Lupus know what,
And you are sketching runes and standing totems in your spiral tower,
Does your breath, your whispered affections dig like wolverines
To meet my heart?

Though mountain or sea or army of thousands stand between us
There must be a way...because you have reached me.

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Miraman, in the year 327 AF.