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.