Skyfall

The edge is cold,
flinty cutting steel,
masked by lead paint,
peeled by the rain,
falling in sheets
of pain and sorrow
bleached by the sun
26 stories up
where only eagles live
facing skyward
to flutter feathers
in the breath of God
and look down
hungrily
at the mice scurrying
madly to Starbucks
on Monday morning.

You pause
feel the first lick of dawn
the smell of donuts
and Kenya AA
on the winds of tomorrow
the decaying breath of yesterday
chalk in the back of your throat,
The flight takes a moment,
the landing a lifetime.

Skyfall…

(listening to Adele)

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