Being and Its Skin

So what if I stumble,
drunk on the first draft of air
slurped directly from the sky?
And crawl on all fours
to the other edge of the peak?
In the vast space below
I don’t even bother to seek out the house
I left behind.
Maybe I’ll go back down there
maybe I won’t,
it doesn’t matter now.
At the top it feels good to know
there’s nowhere else to go, just stand. And stand still.
Still like the air that goes nowhere
even when tugged by a restless wind.
The rocks don’t move and neither does the sky.
They are all in the right place
and they are what they were meant to be.
And I am where I wanted to be
and what I was meant to be.
To go back down would consume
the substance of being;
to rise any higher would
quench being into nothingness.