free-climbing Sentinal Rock

I cut myself with a rusty knife,
yesterday, and waited, for hours,
until, the fine line turned, away
from brightness, from red, deepening
to the color of the blade, itself.

A small slash of withered courage,
yesterday, remembered, for hours,
until, the blossom burned, away
from kerosene, from fire, seeping
into the salt of my skin, itself.