Lookout

The leaping point is a place 
on a hill above a vale, 
a tumult behind its own shroud 
like cataracts to a stream;
the demands of change are
buried deep inside the echo’s meat,  
a mist’s rainbows,
a bitch to describe,
so easier entered arms spread wide -
when I go I’ll go eyes closed 
and pray this won’t hurt much.

This valley’s votive prayer is
unutterable serenity and
why I choose to stand where I do -
the view, the whispers internalized 
filling hollows, 
the bland beacons of my eyes 
fixed to the green branch’s 
common sense, not what lay lower – 
the dirt, the roots
the sudden impact of the end,
and my body like a spear 
thrust into a friend.

© Paddy Scott