Philip Gross
Ledge
She’s lodged here, somehow –
just a bed’s width, dizzyingly high.
The mist pours up, sea clatters
trolley in a lift shaft and their why...?
and when you’re better are as clear
as a seal’s cough and as odd. She could even reply
but she’s using her time here to study the language of birds;
she’s so light and hollow and her eye
so sharp that sometimes in the mist
she catches the glint of a zero-thickness steel wire cry
she could slip down and away, a miles-long glide.
Just a step to the edge and she’ll fly.
Page(s) 87
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