Rock climbing comes easy to
Anyone who has tried to scale
The face of the H. Building one
Meter at a time.

At dusk, and the electricity is
Out, rain falls lightly behind
You, the single pane of glass
Not quite in reach.

An illusory trance protects one
Hand at a time as it shakes its
Way upward, followed with luck
By one foot.

Wishes aren’t horses or fishes,
And even prayer cannot create
Steel steps or a decent length of
Climbing cord.

Gazing upwards or down is a
Dizzying event, twin spires or
The water towers on a collection
Of rooftops below.

The task was to gain entrance
To the building from which he
Had been banished, although
Dangerous it was.

To grasp and grab and place
And displace, to pull up and
Put down, to gain a quarter
Meter in the process.

Barely a stone’s throw from
His right hand was the edge
Of a windowsill, slippery but
Amenable to a lunge.

Losing a toehold would be
A disaster, so the skid free
Soles on his shoes would ensure
Victory.

A windless, now dry façade
Provided just the surface for
His hand to seize the sill.
Itself a jagged prize.

Here is a case, he thought,
Of mind over mortar, of the
Proof positive that man can
Do without scaffolding.

Even the banished can climb
To heights armed with secret
Weapons and ready to meet
A ☺ at the summit.*


© Lewis Bosworth, 12/2016