Bolts in the Wall

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.