༺ Yarn ༻

all the gear fell out
as I started the crux
of the golden fleece
at Symond’s Yat

looking down the rope
eighty odd feet or so
all the protection
I’d put in
popped

my brother looked up
helpless to help me

I could’ve tried reversing
but that looked dodgy
the headwall didn’t look too hard
being scared
would only make a fall
more likely

the mind
stopped
the moves
flowed

two minutes
of simplicity
of flight

of accidental

perfection