Source
 
I am here without parameter
where thought and wedge-tail
elevate high on thermals and
discipate into atmosphere
 
where cold is a colour of 
glass strand fractures under
foot and concern inconsequential
 
perception of time as meaningless
as the yardsticks by which the
arrogance of limited existence gauge it
 
and yet
 
the aeons of sequential perfection
which culminate in this moment
are not lost, for
 
I am here

Chris Horwood 's questions:

I live at the foothills of the Blue Mountains 75kms west of Sydney Australia. I've never worked up the courage to post a poem on a website before but offer the above for your consideration. It's a poem about a special place to where I escape when I need to regain perspective. I think it captures the feel of that place reasonably well, but don't know if it's written well enough to enable others to "feel into" the situation the way I do. Can you please offer some feedback.

Best regards