Three-Point Contact
April 17 2005


Three-point contact at all times.

When it’s easier to climb
than go down,
because looking back at the ground makes you queasy.
You never thought about attachment this way
flattening your body to the face;
fragile flesh
hard-pressed against unyielding rock.

You do not meditate on death.
You do not care about conquest,
or the view from the top.
And first ascents are better left to heroes.

So fiercely focused
on one suspended moment,
how an instant contains infinity.
One hand and two feet
in touch
the other reaching up;
close enough that weathered rock fills your vision
-- so you can see
with microscopic intensity
the exact composition of granite.

Tiny quartz crystals like hard bits of sand
lightly brush your fingertips;
and the mottled surface of the sheer cliff in muted greys and pinks,
still warm with high-noon’s latent heat.