Bus Ride

How many times had we taken
that winding mad road down
into the floating lights?
That road which made
all the bus drivers drunk
and veer dangerously close
to the teetering gorge.

Gravity always left us
at the last corner,
and you were never more beautiful
than when you grinned far out
over the barrier
of our silent danger.

And then in that blink of a life
when your body decided
to exit the bus in full swing
round the final bend,

how I reached for you,
before my body did,
and pulled you back
to life, to solid spans, to predictability.

I saw it in you then,
that for a brief moment
you had been in love with your soaring death,
eyes sparkling
as if you had walked a tightrope
at an impossible slant
over this tame city.

And I, clinging to your
hot little soul, a fool
who tries to reel home
the already persuaded.
What if I had let go?
What if I had simply let you
and chaos play your dizzying games?


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