FIRST FLIGHT
Anthony Robottom
After that climb
All that's left is to descend,
One way or the other.
Having climbed, I thought
There'd be something more,
Some mild revelation.
To why and how.
Instead, just a gargantuan's view of
The town,
And a map of rocks below,
With the slate sea, a rippling roof cascade;
Beckons as it swirls the rocks,
And sings to the cliffs.
Falling would be fine, a brief flight.
As short as a wet-winged butterfly's will
Be.
It's the landing that would be so...
Final.
A child's dog sniffing shattered remains.
The family's face full of questions.
One so young
Lapped by the so old, sweet singing sea.