Windswept, chiseled over millennia –
monolith, monument to forces far beyond
our domain.
Lonesome giant,
against the cavernous sky.
Outcropping to outcropping,
alongside trees gnarled in crevices,
I scale the sun-bleached walls.
The wind is at my back,
falling rubble
meets a fate only it can withstand
tumbling from near-heaven, careening against
the side of the cliffs.
Little stands between death and I,
turning back, is no longer an option.
Surefooted,
may my hands guide the way,
the sun beats down on my face.
To the sky I announce,
“I will meet you in the middle.”
The summit seemed impossible
until it was in my grasp.
Now, how to get
back down?
The File Pile 