Peak

for Steph Davis

Triangles of earth rise steeply in prayer.

Clean lines carry steps and the rhythm

of an un-tethered worshiper,

breathless. You reach the crux,

scrub away the myth of "what if" and find

fragile footprints, a small voice

pulling you up.

I reach up, catch these words from the sky

floating down from your voice and know:

it's not what but how

it's not where but with whom

and the answer

is always

you.