Edges
need walkers
Anyone can walk them
Any body full of desire learns how early

May I walk with you?
Certainly, says one body to the other
With pleasure, says another
No, another time maybe, says a third

Edges need their walkers
They love their unsteady gaits
Edges stay rock-still
No need to shake as walkers do that quite well

Will you walk with me?
Certainly, says the pupil to the teacher
With pleasure, says the soldier to the commander
No, this is not a good time, says the suspect to the cop

If an edge is too smooth it pulls no walkers
Or walkers find it who don’t love edges
Weep for me, says the too-broad too-smooth edge
I have lost myself

There must always be an edge to be strolled
or a balance to be threatened
If we are to open our lungs and eyes enough
we need to feel some terror underfoot

I think we should walk together
Certainly, says the acolyte to the high priest
With pleasure, says the escort to the client
No, I’m not ready, says the son to the mother

The edge is architect of existence
When the falls happen we recall
that some must fail and scream and tumble into the maw
It is what makes an edge worth walking

Step out here and let me see you
Certainly, says the bored man to the bottle
With pleasure, says the toddler to the pool gate
No, I shall not go, you will have to drag me, says the man