Edging On

The wind had ‘abated’. He plays with the word, lets it go.
His need to play clever departed an aeon ago.
He stands on an edge. It is always an edge, but of what?
He steps toward the centre, he hopes. Hope is all that he’s got.
An albatross stands in the only path, blocking the way.
He thinks of a smart word, forgets it. The bird wins the day.
‘You win,’ he admits. The albatross says, ‘So do you’.
They stand quietly together admiring the infinite view.

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