I start to lower myself to the ground
but
Yosha is behind me
and the mountain speaks furtively
because
it’s snow will soon
topple.
now, I notice,
yes, Yosha is still behind me
coiled around cords and ropes
that hold him there
in middair
and a nearly magic sight, but
the cold
night is swept down
with the sharp hand
of the mountain-
the
snow will carry us down
but before it does,
let us make sure we fo not
leave here empty-handed.
we bled our hearts out on these
rocks, so where is that morsel
of goodness buried? is it within
these tall towers or does it cling
to our ruby stained hands, that touch,
almost translucently, and I say
“don’t look down”
“don’t look down”
Copyright 2012 by Golden Star Poetry