Sunday, July 26, 2009

Free Climb

The rope snaps
with a burst of dust like pollen
and slithers down the rock.
You catch yourself
in time.

We watch it glide away
falling in graceful loops
raising powder as it goes:
smoking, dragging
small stones along

that click
and chatter down the slope
bounding from ledge
to ledge
setting the whole

field of scree far below
in motion, raising
clouds in the still air:
until the silence
under it all

rises to the surface.
We never trusted that rope.
And it's better now:
just hard clean stone
under our fingers.

Whether we make it down
or not there is
in having the problem

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