Sitting on a ledge

David Policar 1998

There's no room on this crumbling stony ledge,
But better here than hanging from the cracks,
Fingers jammed in tightly, cold wind at my back,
Toes scrambling to find another hold.

Below me I can see the shadowed depths;
Their sulphurous reek still climbs to claw my eyes
And sting my flesh. I cannot see the path
That brought me out into the air, to here.

From here I see the depths, but not the heights.
At first I dreamed of castles at the peak,
Then settled to the rhythm: hand, then foot,
And foot, and hand, again, again, again...

And now I've found this ledge, and here I rest.
There are no castles to be sought or found,
But still, the air is fresher, cleaner, here.
Simpler to sit still than dare the rocks.

Another pebble shifts and clatters down.
Powder trickles slowly from the stone.
I wait.