The Climb

I climb the mountain's shell

in a rush of air

like before

birth

and after

heartbreak.

My bedroom 

window 

pulled me 

through 

untouched glass

to branches that curl white,organic calligraphy.

Rocks follow me

like the Peregrine Falcon

follows the wind.

I climb higher

above the footprint

of doormats

lovers,

and circular keyholes

I forgot to lock.

A sky that woke me in my sleep,

now canopies

me 

while I wake 

and walk.

Tree barks are

splotched orange

by Ladybird Beetles

who bleed their shells into

the crust of timbers.

They leave their

remains

in the lining of 

Ponderosa Pine

staining their death

and the sun

Titian. 

I climb 

with ash-colored minerals

that trail under steps like

dogs at my heels,

grey and black

like leftover lava,

or animal droppings

that hardened overnight.

I climb 

to leave the remote-controlled

fireplace,

the vents that 

seep dirty,

the weedless garden

that grows

in straight lines.

I climb 

to disappear

and

follow the sun

that speaks in silence,

falls 

alone.