Afraid of heights, I climbed a tower
Made of steel and wooden stairs.
At the top I watched clouds cower
From the sun. I whistled ancient airs
As I teetered on a platform
And vultures flew by in pairs.
I existed in the eye of a storm
With no lightning, wind, or rain
Blasting my human form.
I refused to celebrate the pain
That grew inside me on the hour.
I saw myself look down again —
Fall like a meteor shower.
A man hangs by his elbow, not trusting
His hands alone to keep him from falling.
He’d call the Eiffel Tower his calling —
Brushing to prevent it from rusting —
Sixty tons of paint every seven years.
I’ve been to the top in spite of my fears.
My vertigo let me look out, not down.
Just this photograph unstrings me.
I can’t imagine standing on the crown
Without losing my ability to be.
Yet, men dangled from such heights to build
It —
iron and rivet.
One man was killed.
