Cinquain Whir

another precarious morning to slip on
the surface of things best left unsaid
before the sirens the sound of boots
storming up the narrow stair
a door bursts open

the rooftop chapter ends before it begins
guitars and amps
a voice pauses mid-note
the view from a helicopter
as it hovers over an inevitable distance

between crooked smile
and withering glance
her Plan B begins
with scorched strands
of another alphabet

and sugar water she would draw
into an eye dropper
for the hummingbird please
come spring
she whimpers

I will
I will not fall
I will not fall over
I will not fall over the edge
tonight

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