She fell. Held

 Static, each spinning inch a picture;

 A diver, expecting no splash.

 Landing, not thump,

 But a quick crack whip of electric stick.

 Lightheaded from the sudden light

 The nervous gatherer gives rifling a stop,

 His feet stuttering towards her as

 The last lamp-light lick flicks across her eye, dragging

 Her pupil like a staggering fly.

 Heat fans its way, like water and wine,

 The gravel soothes like etherising balm

 As she waits, gelid, in ruinous calm.