Jumping off bridges You hoped the river Made of glass Would easily divide Around your bird-boned weight A fall, in mirrored rising To a prayer’s clasped point Almost as long as the world’s held breath Shoulder turning With that immaculate Block and tackle inevitability As if the curvature of the world Were real, not just the lying distance Where earth and sky collide Where curves in opposition meet In the wind-rush shout A sun-pale flash of your smeared face Realising, the world, neither curved Nor made of glass But, fragmenting apart You are
