Falling

Peace is what attempted to overcome
her the first time the overpass railing
began to melt beneath her leaning,
A river of light beyond a crevasse
of living, rushing beneath her booted
feet. Rain splashed her cheeks and
woke her briefly. Just in time. For
a time. She shuddered. She went on.

I do it for your love.

A sprinkle of clove and cinnamon sugar
on the baby’s rice, she knew without
knowledge, sooths his gums. He gripped
her hair and grimaced. Silence,
for moment. He shivered. He went on.

I do it for your love.

Unhinged, unroped. Duped into a semblance
of living. At dusk, with leaves falling, light
on water swirling, the tumble and turn
an alluring dream. The peace, the
dreadful hypothermic peace. Life goes on.

I do it for your love.