A Kiss on the Lips of Height

It is far to mountaintop,
farther for the lost.
Beyond that peak are many more
each higher than those passed before
The mountain grows as I ascend
(Is there a top? Is there an end?)
to be alone in emptiness.

The cliff walker,
plants half an airy kiss
upon the lips of height.

Standing in solitude
on precipice of space
he casts his sunset shadow
enormous
as from magic lantern
upon the panel of the sky.

When the light’s withdrawn
behind him the traveler
becomes afraid to walk,
afraid to fall,
to step too near the edge
on what might crumble
from his stumbling weight,
ashamed to hear his sounds
the wind might carry
were there ears to bear.

No memory of laughter
can survive the hush of wind.