Doubt, concern, fear, courage.
A frisson thought, a breath clutched,
a powerful impulse bounded by
what my compressed foot tip can hold
against a small two-inch square block.
Ten milliseconds of vertical flight.
My white fingers, unchalked by sweat,
a nervous threat,
produce a lackluster grip.
Concealed roughness of an aimed block,
its duplicity only discovered
by the slippery caress of a moist grasp.
Fall, stumble, collapse.
The guts ascend, strong
irrefutable empirical evidence.
Adrenaline, quiescent stinging essence
now pumped by an unapologetic heart.
The suffrage of my destiny withdrawn.
Two meters later, the rope is my anchor.
And the belayer seduces me
to the myriad safeties of the floor
with the chant of a GriGri.