The mountain is a Jenga tower.
I crawl over the stony rubble,
hoping not to set any pieces loose.
The ground was broken millions
of years before my arrival
but with each shaky step,
I leave my mark.
I try not to imagine the
sudden crack and
crashing of boulders –
my bones crushed by their weight,
my body forever entombed in
the long yawn of their traverse.
But it’s too late –
the thought’s been thought,
the fear is in me.
So, I move forward, praying
the earth forgives my trespasses
and, if it must, grant me
a speedy death.
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