I start to lower myself to the ground


Yosha is behind me

   and the mountain speaks furtively


it’s snow will soon


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-


   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





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