Turtle Jaw Grip

I stood at the canyon rim, five miles wide.
I wondered: could we straddle it again, legs
spread, a compass one hundred degrees? I hide
from the wind, that viscous trickster begs
to topple me face first – your face a mirror
in the river below. my anklebone
tickles where I first felt the pull – your
hands upon my heel. you were full grown
at sixteen months – I asked did you know
we would fall off this cliff? you were just being
the slow runner and tipsy dancer. grow
old in my mind. you would be four now – freeing
my ankle from your turtle jaw grip. I thirst
for the moment when I brought you here first.