You

You are the whole building on fire.

You are the voice of sirens. You are

the dumb crowd milling, the capture

of Weegee’s lens. You are flames

licking up the escape. You're the hovering

of a mother at the cliff of her window ledge.

You are the choice to drop her baby.

You're the chance of a beckoning crowd,

six hands gripping a sooty raincoat. You

are the only option. You're a simple drop.

Ten stories below they pray you're like a cloud,

soft floating. You are like a cloud. Grey

and you don't hold anything. You are

that moment before a falling, the falling,

a whir of falling, wail of falling, the sweet

thud. You are black blood flaring

across the concrete. You are a needle

to the groove of a very sad song.

The whole building burns with you.