Edge (a climbing poem)

Edge
by Pamela Carter

Not as the sharp of a knife

Nor as the red of my blood

Nor ever as the deep of my dark-side

But for the surge, the pound, the beat of my blood

Inside and against my own skin

For that push

For the swell of my heart

I want to know the edge.

I will perch on the edge

Because the sharp gasp at the drop

The glory of the far-flung horizon

And the effort-summoned, expended-to arrive

Remind my animal self of my actual size

In full view of planet home

All mirrors far below

I try for the edge

For the truth of first-hand

For the belief in history

For the sharp note I play that is the same that manic Mozart made centuries before

For purpose

For longevity

For the development of neural synapses

For beauty and logic and peace

For fear and bravery and the chance of a fall

For love,

For you.