The wall rises like a question asked in stone,
Each bolt a promise hammered into place.
I climb the line my forearms have been shown.
Below, the rope hums softly, taut and known,
Above, the next quickdraw waits for grace.
The wall rises like a question asked in stone.
Chalk ghosts my hands, my breathing overthrown,
Feet search for truth on nothing but a face.
I climb the line my forearms have been shown.
Muscle debates with fear I’ve always owned,
A fall rehearsed, yet trust becomes the case.
The wall rises like a question asked in stone.
Mid-route, the crowd dissolves, the world narrows alone
To hips, to balance, to efficient space.
I climb the line my forearms have been shown.
At anchors, shaking, joy and ache are sewn—
A final clip, the ground a distant place.
The wall rises like a question asked in stone.
I climb the line my forearms have been shown.