Monday, October 9, 2017

Yet I Complain and No One Hears My Voice

I tried to rehearse.
I walked carefully
Over broken rocks
And black baling wire
Until I could see

Over the cliff’s lip
To confirm it was
Sheer. One or two trees
Pointed up like spears,
But I could miss them.

The delicate part
Would be easing down
And stepping over
To reach the best spot
But not fall too soon.

I swayed near the edge,
Planning the sequence,
Imagining it,
But not testing it,
Not getting too far.

Peak fall colors flared
From the shadowed walls
That narrowed and hid
The bottom from view.
But I heard the stream.

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