So here you are again, after all these years,
at the same edge, staring down the gorge,
the old temptress you never thought you’d see again,
listening to thin air singing lies,
wishing you could plead innocence
despite how well you understand the choice:
1. You step off into space and fly…
feel the wind kiss your skin…
bathe your heart with fire…
fall free and alive into her space
then agony – abruptly broken and torn,
faced with crawling again up the rocks
with bleeding fingers.
2. Or you back away through brush…
lock yourself to solid ground…
find the trail signs carved in rock…
follow the well-worn path on down…
then agony of slogging through the gray
mildew growing on the soles
of useless feet.
Why do you act as if the choice is hard?
Turning theatrically in circles.
Trying to rationalize with gravity
as if you didn’t hack your way through thorns
to see this awesome view again
or didn’t plan to jump.