Waiting at the edge of the world

There is a little crevice where you can stand
– hang on, it’s wobbly! –







and watch the hazy clouds drift by.
The soft pitter-patter
of your heart quickens;
the air is fresh like razors



sharpened after a morning shave.
You feel a push
a steady, slow
“here you go!”



and you are falling
slipping off
ceasing to exist
letting go –

Free.