I was up way too early this morning. On my way to the train, also way too early, I saw this worker standing at the edge of a condo tower under construction a block from our house.

I could never do that, I thought. I have a fear of heights. Of edges. And then I wondered what Andrea Gibson would say about that. One of the world’s incredible poets – and prophets – Andrea Gibson died a few days ago. They were only 49. I have loved them for so long.

So, I wrote a little poem on the ride and finished it when I got to work. Still way too early.

This is…”Altitude.”
For Andrea.

the sky wears no railings
just open invitations
to edges that pulse like promises.

and I tremble at the thought
that joy lives on the thinnest ledge.

i’ve stood at the cliff of decision,
hands clutching nothing but possibility,
and felt the panic of vertical dreaming—
like my soul forgot how to swim.
but then remembered it has wings.

it’s not the fall
that haunts me.

it’s the knowing
I could soar,
and never come down the same.

sometimes,
I wonder if fear of heights
is really fear of being high enough
to see how small our heartbreaks look
from above.

how gravity, gentle as forgiveness,
still dares us to let go.

I keep telling myself:
gravity is not a law,
it’s a dare.