the cityscape
where tourists go
the cityscape
that everybody rushes towards
to take that perfect little picture panoramic
to showcase a momentary projected happiness
an ever-deepening absence on eye level
is where you went to die
and end it all
and you plunged into the cityscape
at a speed unknown
into the landscape
photographed and admired
historical
and you, like so many others
before and after you
lay there
unmoved for a little while
and you broke everything in my chest
leaking into nature
everything shifted within you
and they removed you from the scenery
I sense the plummet in my bones intact and repetitive
I turn to writing
because the images become too invasive
I have to get the words out
a poem makes sense
a poem is not silent
a poem is part of the landscape
a poem is part of the cityscape
a poem is part of you
Croque-Melpomene 