John Raubenheimer

You’re clawed into a rock face

when suddenly cracks ribbon. 

Its sheer begins to fall.

You fall with it, 

scrabbling with your nails

until you are straddling

a dropping clench of stone. 

All around you

others are falling, on their rafts

of rock, some precariously balancing, 

arms out like wings. 

They cry, call to one another,

Hold on, don’t be afraid. 

And you find your voice. 

The falling have become your community.