Poem: The Crash

Startled by an interloper, something bigger than they, a moving shadow that connotes death,

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.