batshit crazy,
legs dangling from the spindly tree that juts out and
up from the sheer edge just below the top of the cliff. a
fifth grader on a cub scout camping trip. “if i fall will i
fly?” no. snow began to fall, but i clung to the limbs and
lingered, imagining what lay beyond the horizon, crafting
who i’d perhaps be when i got there. and i did not fall.
