Ken's Poetry

Fall

Clinging by the fingers.

The end will come inevitably
the grasp weakened over years
finally relax and break,
and she will fly away.

Toes twitch for grip
on the crumbling rock.

Warmth has already drained
from her afternoon face
as hope caves in.

Straining his legs and back
he rises up the face
lips kissing cold stone.

She slips the photograph back
into the eroded years.

His arm loops over the crest
fingers dance on the edge
seeking grip.
The sky falls.

She wipes away the tears.