Above the Alameda Gardens

Why I chose riding the cable car as the moment
I’m still unsure. We were hanging there,
above the Alameda Gardens, all that beautiful flora
 below, with no exit until the journey completed.
The car juddered upwards, we pretended we were
on solid ground, stepped lightly around the metal floor,
swaying around as it threatened to unbalance us,
blinking at the view, trying to take it all in.
A strapping squaddie stood stock still in one corner,
holding the rusted inner rail, his eyes jerking from one vista  
to another like a nervous public speaker.
Conscious suddenly we were climbing the face of a cliff
with rocky outcrops, each abyss flew at me. The air
had gone stale with the strain of small scale terrors.
I told you and you couldn’t step back. Your eyes widened
as we jolted over the mid-journey fixings. An automatic
reaction, your gaze flicked to my midriff. ‘Oh’ you said. ‘Oh’.
As the floor lurched towards me your hand rose and settled
back at your side. You frowned, and all you said
till we safely landed: ‘It’s best if you don’t look down’.