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I soft-swing on the granite face ...
Cuddled close to the cooling stone like a spider,
Sun slithering into the emerald-studded reach to seal the day.
I dig into my hip sack for the last usable piton -
There are a few old ones driven into the rock to my left,

But corrosion has seen an end to their usefulness.
I consider my route carefully from this point on, for it will be unassisted,
And ANY surprise means a long fall and quick end when free-climbing.
My mind chooses the appropriate slot for the piton ...
I align it to my route by the strength and quality of granite,

And attach it, securely as possible, deep into the tiny crevice.
The late hour and lack of food leave my focus a bit ... confused ...
While I'm steadfastly sure of my expertise and strength,
Even the smallest errors are deadly,
And I barely notice a small, mis-colored cleaving at the anchor spot,

My subconscious mind processing it as late-day shadow.
Before I'm aware of what's happened, it gives way,
The fascia of granite shearing off in a seven-foot section -
ONE piton pulled would not create enough momentum to doom me,
But the loss of four with the broken section is too much ...

My harness breaks, and I tumble ...
I instinctively contort into a ball to increase my terminal velocity,
For the pain of surviving is too much to consider.
I watch the speckled rocks below grow quickly in size ...
Oh, I have considered this death a million times,

Yet no fear accompanies me now ...
I am content, the day as perfect as any,
Blessed to leave this earth doing what I love most,
Sad, only, that my end ...
Will leave such a bloody signature.





Written and submitted on September 9, 2019
For the "Ten Word Challenge 1" Poetry Contest
Kai Michael Neumann, Sponsor.

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