Slip
The way he fell reminded me
of pastel ballerina’s stance,
disburdening their gravity
to lightly let them dance.
I pondered why we presuppose
collapse will cut a tragic shape –
his spine bent like a tuberose
and gently at the nape.
It happened, free from connotations
man assigns to most descent,
his posture like a fine quotation,
mien quite content.
Indeed, his silent grace made it
incongruous to represent
his dancer’s pose as counterfeit,
mere happy accident.
There thus remains uncertainty
on whether, drawn to moralise,
six stitches came to him or me
as more of a surprise.