Here, the earth itself is vertical.
Darkness pulls at me from far below,
singing gravity's sweet siren call.
The wind blows through. I know this place, I know,
know this chasm. Know this void, this thirst
where you, the one I love, are simply not.
Where you are with another, for the first
time since we came together. It's been, what,
25 years? A quarter-century gone since
the night I cried alone while Sue was with him.
But I so wanted her to have the freedom
she'd given me. So it was only justice,
symmetry, equality and fairness.
This truth rang through me like a bell:
echoing, hollow. If it was hard, well,
everything's hard at first. It had to be
that way for us back then. Climbing free
takes discipline, open eyes, and balance.
How high the cliffs of the heart! What space!
And now you. I have climbed this route before.
It's still rough going, but I move much more
certainly now, know all the moves, the holds;
this time, perhaps, I show a touch of grace.
So fly, beloved eagle, free to soar
over the vast Yosemite of my soul:
I am comfortable here on this sheer granite face.
San Jose
July 25 & August 19, 1998
The night 25 years earlier is described in my poem Green-Eyed Monster. You can see the first version of this poem here.
This poem draws heavily on my experiences climbing in Yosemite valley, especially my ascent of the 500-meter vertical cliff called Royal Arches.