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.
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