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Winds buffet a dream‑like statue, as I stand upon the cliff face sheer. 

Quartz and granite beneath my feet, cracked and veined, where grasses break free.

I scream the name to careless coils of atmospheric change,

Trailing to a hoarse whisper of solitude struck twain.

A forceful gust from behind gives action to unrealized thoughts,

Lifting me beyond the cliff to the gaping hands of space. 

Fingers clutch, but catch me not, as I have yet to grow my wings.

Arms extended with legs together, toes pointing ever more skyward,

Head to earth, I evade the Heaven‑sent.

I scan the face before my face, its crags and outcrops keen. 

I scan it for the message missing, for an answer to my scream.

Down, plummet down like a hurled stone in gravity's well.

A time piece adorns a ragged mantle in a downward spiral, draped in blackened rags.

Its measured step, a pounding heart's pace, swiftly descending through the deadly race.

Lover, lover answer me, help me find my saving grace.

Tell me I will find this toil, to prolong the hold of life's embrace.

A purpose, a design packaged with the logical in mind, knotting all these strands to one.

Both means and meanings comprise a compromise by your side.

These thoughts race through in one turn of the screw, this spiral that affronts my view.

So reach my hand, and waken me from scenes of falling...

Into dreams where our wings may glide.

[© 1994 Joseph Wheeler, all rights reserved]

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