The Summit
I write and rewrite 
the final chapter,
but the sun always sets
beyond the mountains yonder. 

No version ever reveals 
the path taken, the steep hills
climbed to reach the summit;
the pinnacle of life, oh really?

I write and rewrite 
the final chapter,
as if the end would matter
to someone so inept. 

No twisted ankle 
or spilled truth
could ever covey the way 
doves die in hawk’s claws. 

I write and rewrite
the final chapter, …