I found out, without a stinging sensation.
I take a step and I am seven again,
walking across the worn down
rock driveway on tiptoes feeling
the smooth sharp edges on my feet.
I am there again,
walking, with a friend
who holds me.
Once the rough rock patterns
from a climb marked my hands,
shaping the life line
that runs across a palm.
The click of metal as I swayed,
the shock of height drove my heart to
a snare drum beat.
The next suspended plank a step ahead.
Maybe the coals followed,
each step golden, red, glowing.
Marking each footprint is the past.
Worn down rocks, a old rope bridge,