This Precipitous Place

Twenty years of faithhave led me here to this precipitous place right at the edge of my dream

If the wind shifts rightly I can close my eyes and savor its perfume

This dream of mine, a writer's life I was born to live but have yet to attain so I walk here as a ghost in the burning daylight one foot in each world, yet not fully an inhabitant of either

My refusal to relent is sheer stubbornness bred in me from generations of those who did it the hard way those who, I pray, in some way walked their hope with them, all the way to the grave.