FLYING

by Beverly Lesch

1.
the station window gleamed
white at mid-afternoon

a millisecond later
across a missed step

falling, rolling
until bones snap
and flesh swells

the light replaced
by the hard gray floor

2.
replaying the moment
obsessively—
a millisecond
on an ordinary Sunday

freeze, rewind—
it’s too late
I was flying toward the light

They Gather
digital photograph
Lisa Jacqueline Graves