Poem: The Crash
Or what is understood to be the end,
The little ones flutter away, dashing hysterically for cover, like a child seeking solace
Beneath his blanket.
All but one are safe.
The unlucky fellow crashes head-first into an invisible pane of glass, which renders him
Unconscious. Or, perhaps, more conscious than he has ever been.
Do his involuntary twitches suggest the acting out of a dream?
Are they a dance of regret?
He has gone to another place, although the body remains, prone and vulnerable, open and available to whatever cruelties or kindnesses await.
A giant cups him in two warm hands. Gently conveying. Flying again.