Even Though

.

Even Though

.

.

Even attempting to climb the perilous cliff,

I am not afraid of falling.

The sensual rhythms of this lonely morning

devour me, reconciled

to my private chamber, suspended.

 

Far under the cliff, the gulls

are united with the ocean, as that

deep blue speckled-white

beckons me to its bed.

 

Wolves and warriors are rooted to the hunt.

I am rooted to this risk, edge-clinging,

fated to ultimately rest

in the body of a miracle.

 

There are miles below and miles above,

awakening sounds of insects burrowing,

of swallows nest-emerging –

a holy vapour all around that fills

the void with necessity.

 

© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

.

 

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