Cling

At the moor's edge
where the cliff-drop gnaws the wind
and a jutting ledge raises it hackles,
fingers scrabble, skinned toes curl
within stiff-jawed boots.

Turn an ankle here,
and you may fall
unleashed
to die somewhere
out of sight.

Do not enter your mind here
in that place
where a whipped dog cowers.

Cling,
rope yourself to the sky -
Growl.

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