The city stretches for miles
from this height it looks like a destination
not a place,
               not a home
nothing out there is discernable
not in any real sense
               you can make out landmarks
               but not their feelings
               not the nuances of being there.

The wind senses my fear
               rises up in jest
                              pushing me toward the edge
my heart lies there too.
               a battle on two fronts
I exchange my hat for a taste of victory
with the blurred streets below
drawn in vaguely violent impressionism.

I reach out over the edge
               to warn it of the dangers down there,
but it ignores this
               falling,
caught in a mad dance with the wind.

I say nothing,
               but my head is cold.