Your rope, my rope. My tracks,
Your steps. Beneath my feet,
The drop. Around my waist.
Your weight. On my back,
Your stuff, my yoke, the works.
Your pace, my pace. My task,
Your quest. Underfoot, crack
After crack, the ice, the ice.
Above and beyond, our route,
The world’s roof, a roost of mist.
Over one shoulder, a yelp
Downslope, a whoop back up:
My jabber, your babble, our heart
To heart in the heat of our assault
On the last face, pitch by pitch.
Up top, tapped out: your breath,
My breath, gasp for gasp, our
Dragon clouds. Out there, nowhere
But here, where air comes dear:
No far, no near, the end of all roads.
Your neck, my neck. Your cross,
My wind horse. Your mule,
My ass: try soulmate, your muse,
My own man. Under my mask,
My real mask, your open book.
from Southwest Review