The Precipice

By: K. Jan Harvey

I stood at the edge of the precipice,
Or what it has become;
Filled with nothing, redeemable, harvested, had.
The stutter of a rushed voice
Corrupted that moment of quiet at the last of a breath.
I held my breath to hear,
It suddenly was clear,
There was laughter, much rejoicing
At a joke.
'We outdid them!' It cascaded,
And it toppled down the hillside with the laugher.
Then together we turned to the cliff
And set about rigging a clever elevator on its face,
But I began digging.