~ROBIN
KEMP~
CLIMBING
You won't climb granite with me,
mind divorced
from mine, not comprehending why
I scrape
soft flesh on stone, where gravity
tips force
on razored ledges. This cliff's
rockface shape
I take as mine. Surgically,
I select
the wires and chocks to custom-fit
each crack,
tug tight until they catch.
Such slim protec-
tion, clipped to faith, is safest
when it's slack.
My weight on vinestem legs turns
arabesque
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
curves.
You'd never take this risk, afraid
to die.
We have our different viewpoints,
you and I.
© by Robin Kemp
