Out here, on these vicious rocks that come at me
in sharp angles and steep climbs, I search
for the oneness, wholeness, the entire anthology
of being. This craggy scramble over thick bushes,
stony slides—could mark my end, this revolving
around and around while the trail disappears,
dirt beneath my sneakers harder than crash
landings. Good times, horrible moments, bad
fantasies all fade from view as I assess this view;
these waterfalls, so thrilling with their relentless
splash, constant surges assure all movements
left are dangerous, and I remember
the warning signs at the trailhead, hazardous
Potomac home to accidents, suicides, the razor
line between. I long for a safe way out, for
the touristy gift shop and historic displays,
calm canal and towpath with its sleek
bicyclists and tottering children. On the rocks,
blue paint splashes mark the way
back to safety, and I need to skin a knee
before I settle down, breathe my business here.
Thinking, shifting my weight from
foot to foot, I dangle mid-air,
squat and cling to each rock face
that could either cut me or save me,
trusting the right path will find these
feet, hands, this steady shaking body.