You are the mountain;
I, the free climber,
In awe of you
And timid,
Yet I ascend.
Parts of you open.
My fingers and toes
Take foothold in
Your stoic rock face,
The backbone of your Spirit.
But I, too eager,
Unsteady, I slip,
No rope to spot my fall.
Harder, I grip;
Upward, I embrace
The expanse of you:
Cold slate, blue shadow,
Whispers of wind entwine us.
You have me against you.
I am you;
I am the peak of you,
All around us the stars.
© Copyright 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard
Image: google.com
Extraordinary Sunshine Weaver 