you grasp the cliff with grace....
but will let go, in the end.
we all do....so
no shame in that
falling, perhaps, to a
more comfortable place (you
never know, really)
lodged in some crevasse
containing all those earlier losses--
the slow unfolding of a first love,
the origami squares smoothed out,
blank, waiting for your writing, better, truer, now.
the old hunger, too, to throw
coals upon the fire, to hammer
out steel for a new pen,
thick ink lines plowing through white