cliff climb

radiant face

beaming face,

bursting joy,

illuminated,

ultra vivid

stark beauty

in the sunlight

"welcome here

beautiful one,

we long to feel your soft,

your fragile skin,

upon our mineral,

upon our rough etched faces

of hard earth;

you bring life and beauty

to our harsh,

lonely desolation,"

say the rugged, ragged cliffs

you've journeyed

from far away,

your friends awaited you

in the rough,

wild,

wilderness

"we are your landscape,

we are your limitless horizon

your backdrop red,

adobe brick colored,

sandstone cliffs,

here,

for you to caress"

joy,

written,

is shining,

on the beauty of that

siberian,

feminine,

beautiful human face

she's here

from far away

in the midst

of

the backdrop,

the sandstone,

the fresh desert air

she's ready to rope climb,

these new mexico cliffs

her exotic presence

brings magic

she's young,

full of joy

her friends surround her

her smile's contagious

so says the cosmos

the pristine atmosphere,

the hot arid stillness,

the smell of the rock

testify

that creation

was made,

for just this one moment,

plus all the snippets

all the motions,

sewn together,

as she swings with gravity

suspended,

in the motion of love,

the love of life

climb,

climb baby climb,

feel the rope,

the tug and frictional burn

breathe in the moment,

of your youth,

flesh and rock,

oh,

such sweet motion

climb so that you fill your soul,

to the brimming,

fill the onlooker

with admiration,

appreciation

climb,

pull yourself up now,

look below

gaze above

brown and blue,

dizzying release,

so that with season's change,

at journey's end

you'll climb

in your soul

though far away from here,

in your long ride home,

in the clouds,

on the rails,

in the cars,

in the cells,

fluorescent lights,

city maze,

metro noise, . . .

psycho sounds, . . .

. . . where then . . .

you'll dream,

what you've captured,

what you've earned,

the danger,

thrill of life versus death

you'll relive,

your soul's renewed

the return to regular life

mingled,

though somewhat poisoned,

with the sweat and torment,

of making money,

is what it is,

a trade,

of the trade,

for the exchange,

all worth the sacrifice,

of bloody,

sordid city life,

justified,

but

only because,

you'll return again

in next year's summer time

and if there you die,

is what it shall be