TWIN

When he fell he flew, and when he flew
it was quite unexpected.

Those still falling did not, could not,
stop to congratulate him.

Up was an ideal, for all of them –
but he was no idealist.

All verticals had been called into question,
that particular day.

He hovered, gaping down towards
the outrageously complete:

to see was worse than to die, he thought,
or wanted to think.

16th March 2003