81. Sitting on the Grand Canyon

I have a picture of you,
seated on a precarious ledge
teetering above the Grand Canyon.
You are smiling backwards,
thumbs up –
unabashed,
exhilarated.

I want to reach out to you in this dead, frozen
moment:
you are more alive than you have ever
been;
but I want to warn you, pull you back,
take you into my anxious arms,
and it saddens me:
you are happier here
than you ever were with
me.

Which reassures me
that I made the correct moral
choice,
to relinquish you,
to let you be happy
and dangerous
without
meddling
me.

Why must we love?
Why must we remember,
and never forget?
What makes us continue living
when there is so little
to live
for – ?