Heights
~
Wild birds on mountain tops,
The air is brittle, cold,
Camped down where giants slept,
Now buried underground.
My retina still burned with the ghost of the sun,
Bare flesh reacts like a chameleons.
And it's a long way down,
When you're a afraid of heights,
Like me,
And the way down is steeper,
Than you thought it would be.
Mike
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