Gate narrow, path steep...
ever so dizzy from the winding streets
and the options there that are there to meet,
with such friendly faces
all full of teeth
...that sink so deep.
Pulled onward, very slow,
but two lines trailing in the mountain snow,
as too-tight the knot of a distant rope
finds lariat burning, slipping hard on the soul.
In time, I'll make it, I told myself,
though now I'm cold and want the help
of Hell's breath and her hand of snakes
to singe this rope or poison the legs
and send me soaring to the years before
...However base the open road, it's warm.
If God'd just but me release,
I'd fall and mourn a space, then cease;
and land this weathered form
like shards of glass,
in a million pieces for my last dance,
in my last stand before I'd melt away.
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