Monopod
From the mountains
my monopod remembers
how to keep me upright
along the way.
It’s not a ladder
or a cane,
but a slender fulcrum
to align each step,
place my axis
on the earth’s
so I spin in orbit all my own
yet centered in
the life around me.
I follow steepest grades,
loose stones beneath my feet,
past sharp rocks,
holes that open into chasms,
narrow passageways,
along switchbacks.
I balance on a narrow log,
plant my monopod
on the far side.
Then in a flash
it holds my camera
as a scene focuses around me.
Camera clipped on top,
foot braced at bottom,
I see the world
center in my eye,
edges pulsing back
till I hold all light and shadow,
framed and still.
I fire
the shutter,
feel it sing in my blood,
hum in my ears,
till image fades,
and my hand turns cold
around my lens.
My camera stowed,
I carry on,
find an anchor
in each step
as best I can.
I believe in what I see,
how the power in my eye
links me like a lens
to a petal unfolding,
snow sparkling on mountain peaks,
tree rocketing towards the sky,
leaves dancing in the wind.
My monopod roots, blossoms,
holds my camera,
holds me steady.
Here in the flatland,
and low lying valleys,
I remember
to tread carefully,
plant myself firmly,
camera ready
at each moment
along my way.
