The Drop

The drop

Atop the chim-chimney, in evening’s early hours

Slow, slowly down rock, round midnight

Absorbed then disbursed by the skin of the roof before dawn

Why, oh why, can gutters steal you by sunrise

The fall


Oh, sorrow!
Your eyes to the ground
Or stolen by sleep

When I did descend
Upon you
From above

I lingered and was gentle
I hoped, that you should see
There’s need

Wrestle with me
Afflict me
Bless me