The moon glared above,
exposed solid ice
beneath headlamp-glow.

Winds whipped across the wall,
freezing warm breath-vapor
onto my stinging-face.

Chinks of my axe echoed
against the moraine,
crampons etched
my signature behind.

Slowly I moved up
into the pitch-void,
toward the twinkling stars.

Tethered
to my kindred-spirits,
together we found truth
on the summit-push.