The edge was sharp
and falling, the edge
was black and bleak
the moss and  rocks smelt
strongly of damp and
mildew, the mud
messed my  hair - I clung on
by my fingernails and
prised my body
back to grass, the
black grains gritting
my  eyes

and I lie here
as the stars wheel and the
seasons change trying
to get my bearings
regain my legs
but the edge is all
too near, I can stretch
out my hand and
fee! it beneath my
fingers, that space
that air, the edge
of grass and land
sheer into abyss

and the long drop.  So I will
lie here until
my head stops spinning
and my heart slows down,
blood less pressured
soul less undone, before
I attempt to stand
and bear my weight
away from here
from fissure and
from fear.
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