I



I count the stories,

craning my neck

from a first floor vantage point

through glass walls



Blue hats match their buckets,

belts holding cloths and squeegees

and them.

A harness that protects their lives.



At least 30 stories, I think.

300 feet of glass

with a view of grey

tower blocks, a cityscape.



At the ground floor they land with a thud

Harness unlatched

A gentle nod to each other.

Ropes fall freely from high



II



In Lahinch I stand at the summit

of a 30 foot cliff face.

One hand holding my belt

The other my rope.



My harness is attached to another

who explains my next steps

But here I’m alone,

unlatched.


Legs quiver under no real weight.

A western breeze crosses my face,

beside me a plant grows through the rock,

the sound of a stream nearby that I’ll cross.



But for now I stand atop this cliff face

seeking my life experience.

Face pointed upward, I let myself down.

Ropes fall freely below.