As I made my
run to the edge,
preparing the leap
that would prove
my faith, I heard
a poet, or a 
wayward priest,
or maybe a 
criminal, someone
who said something
true. I held my
leap and went 
back for more.
Others flailed
into space
screaming “NO!”
as they spun
out of sight.
A very few leapt
whispering “yes”
-sad, but at
least it was
The rest fell
in silence, old
habits hard to
To say a
criminal knows
truth, saves lives,
is no more
believable than
to say it of 
a priest, except
the wayward.
Do not say it
of a poet,
he may close
his book and
never speak