By Barbara West

My heart is cracked open
drops of wind and
ballooning small worlds

Glaciers repeat unsteady
This much movement
might paralyze.
This much moment
might unmoor
the future.

Minute tendrils
lashing themselves to
insides of rock

crevice hand-holds between
sheer space
stretching this far to
let go

Trusting ropes and latches
will catch my breath
as it tumbles open into
the daffodil wind