Torn skirt billowing behind you
like a parachute,
you fell,
fell,
for the telescoped eternity
of two seconds.
The pond turned its blind eye
to the sky,
and the shuddering gate
swung shut.
No one was talking.
Next day, the sun stirred
the larkspur into bloom again.
A rambler saw the flattened weeds,
suspected a fox,
and poked around...
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