ascending the mountain

"This is how it should be done!"
i heard her say
as she sat up defiantly straight
and meant to get her way
with a modern touch in mind:
a bit of colored hair, perhaps.
where once i felt a burning desire,
she since has helped it lapse.
there is a simple distortion
in the potting of her plant,
and if it would grow perfectly,
she'd be heard to say "It can't!"
i imagine pointing out to her,
climbing as we are
roped together by the waist:
we've really come too far.
but the lamp in her studio
was her only source of light;
she kept reading protective words
completely through the night.