Observation Point

Warm, this shelf wedged into rock.
Alone here, high over earth, I hear
A flower's words (“and don’t let go!”).
But I look back the way I came:
A mile-wide, white rock corridor
That stretches back through bluish haze,
With only endless sky above
And, far below, a floor of green.

Stone monoliths stand sentinel.
Peaks, etching long ascending lines,
March toward me (all roads lead to Rome).
One special joy of climbing is,
Each peak one climbs brings higher peaks,
And so one sees the way one came,
The way ahead. But let that be.
Today, this climb has reached its goal

And here, amid the sun-warmed stone,
That solitary bright red flower
Will bloom (“and I won’t let go!”).
And, small among huge rocks, a pillar
Tall as I -- some giant’s cairn,
I’d guess, perhaps to mark the end
Of someone's long, long climb -- stands mute
But glad, to view a smiling world.