Poetry and Poetics
You won't climb granite with me,
from mine, not comprehending why
soft flesh on stone, where gravity
on razored ledges. This cliff's
I take as mine. Surgically,
the wires and chocks to custom-fit
tug tight until they catch.
Such slim protec-
tion, clipped to faith, is safest
when it's slack.
My weight on vinestem legs turns
above your head. The vision
frays your nerves.
My boots bite death-slip's lip.
The ground's grotesque.
I fall-catch-swing, a living plumb-bob's
You'd never take this risk, afraid
We have our different viewpoints,
you and I.
© by Robin Kemp
Table of contents
VPR home page