no, there was no rail,
as we’d believed,
at the edge:
nothing to break our fall
but the fall itself.
remember - how often we'd marvelled
at how the journey found its way
across an unmarked land?
yet all the time we had been imagining
coming at last, with inevitability,
to the edge.
yearning to capitulate, we obeyed
the journey - which surely was destined,
even though the destination wandered -
and told ourselves that even
at that last moment at the edge
we would stand translated.
yet, from the outset did we not also say
(uneasily, not wanting it to be true)
- the edge is not the end;
the ground is temporary.
the fall goes on.
