Around
the bend of Golden Glyph
Stands
an awkward looking cliff
Connected
to mountain high and wide,
Rising
in reverse from which you’d climb.
The
peak is flat; the bottom, point—
The
ground atop should be below;
The
granite underneath un-whited with snow.
A
mile high (or even more),
Instead,
the tip supports the floor.
The
law of gravity only here fails
As
shale won’t slide to turn the scales.
But
then again—who
knows—it
could;
The
bluff above may slip, flip, and should.
