rock climbing | Golden Star Poetry

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”

Golden Star Poetry