Of course I imagine jumping.
I wouldn’t. But there is that
fleeting flash where I am already
over the guard rail and falling
past the hard Kayenta caprock,
cold wind through my jacket,
falling past the dark varnish, the sheer
red walls, my hair streams above me,
I pass bulbous spires, gulp air,
pass vermillion pedestals, I didn’t
think it would end this fast—at the edge
looking over I take a step back.