What of the original eleven?
Ten riders lost in the swells of intemperate sea
Only one remains:

I stand
cliff sided and steep.
A boatsman edging close,
to the cleaving line.
Crashing upward echoes
from crags below
which wait in a dim swish of hushed defiance.
Guards at the gate
to the vastness beyond,
marked
with torrent and calm.

I stand in awe
of wind and sea
encircling me with power
the raw throb and thud of ocean.
I feel as one, despite
the palpable forces
pulsing in my veins

I waiver
and fall
to the waiting rocks below.