Should we strike south from our last shadowed lair,
Or chase the north wind—does fortune wait there?
Climb toward the peaks where old heroes reside,
Where bold dreams are etched on the stone mountainside.
Begin at high benches, the twin overlooks high,
Then descend to the spiral target that beckons nearby.
Veer from that point to a draw’s dry bed,
Where secrets lie hidden—will you find where I’ve fled?
I’m tucked right beneath what your eyes have passed by,
Skip the old etchings—I’m closer; look nigh.