'

*Dour faced 
you stepped into a gaping precipice 
leaving me with 
my face moist 

at the threshold 
(its frame now leaning 
to one side 
splintered and unhinged.) 

Did I tell you that my front door 
never opened to the street? 
Maybe I never had the need to; 
you always entered through the back door, 

you always crept out the window 
to play in the sun. 
This time was different: 

Before another word could be spoken 
you rushed past me 
brushing my outstretched arm(s) . 
Then all I could see 

was your hair tumbling in the air 
as your limbs flailed 
while you plummeted out of my life. *





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