He was on a sheer wall,
ten thousand feet above the base camp
when he fell.

He landed in the scrim of an old slide
a broken expanse of small basalt and granite stones
that dropped at a sharp angle for almost a hundred yards before
it ended at the edge of an incredible drop.
The loose scrabble chuckled and scudded around him as he
slid towards the open sky
hands, feet, arms – nothing helped to slow his descent
the rock became a liquid thing
heavy and buoyant but
quick and elusive, it offered no resistance,
and it offered no handhold

He wasn’t going that fast when he came off the mountain
arms out, knees bent
a slow dive into the still air
Five or six rocks flank him and match his fall
They revolve and shine like little moons.


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