Poem
by Annie Bien • Photo by Zenon Toczek
 He falls, heart first, in a precipitous tumble down an unexplored cavern without light
a sudden descent that lurches
into a suspended jolt;
he waits for his feet
to touch the ground -
the difference between harpies and fairies
is point of view
one looks down with a laugh
the other looks up with a smile
- she listens, neither harpy nor fairy,
the sunlight casts bright and dark shadows
on brick chimney.
If I could I would smooth
your fingers, palm up,
uncurl the grip,
pour a balm
over rope burn
enwrap and warm
your cupped hands.
- these are the words she breathes
as she listens to the wind blow
across the Atlantic.
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