Sailing west

My gaze is already upon the hill, the sunny one,
at the end of the path which I've only just begun.
We are taken, by that which we cannot grasp
at such great distance, yet so near—

and it changes us, even when we do not reach it,
into something, that, hardly sensing it, we already are;
a sign appears, echoing our own direction . . .
But what we sense is the falling winds.