Emptying my Lungs at the top of the World

Sitting atop the westernized
version of Haleakala,
my own Molokini;
staring at my feet and
the following abyss.

a road going nowhere.

wisps of elder hair amongst
a blue face,
pulling at my lips
enveloped by the bliss

life to the left, the right,
in front and behind.