The Peak

The air stills as I reach the foot of the peak.
Silence extends for miles.
The climb is steep. Trecherous. Agonizing. Daunting.
Too much effort.

A cactus wren is perched upon its saguaro
up the trail.

I embrace my fate and climb over it,
stepping forward on the path to the sky.

Do I feel sweat?
A burning in my legs
    and lungs?

"I'm going to die," I said aloud to nobody
while clearly living;
while clearly continuing
  toward the crest
    by each foot for
      ward edging away
        from every worry
          and all my doubt
            about what was n
              ever found or ev
                er lost until ev
                  erything I know i
                    s just to breathe.

                    Then, I sit.
                    Then, I gaze.
                    Then, I wonder.
                    Then, I feel full.