What is that thing,
that flutter of black,
against a white-grey sky
of thin nothing-winter air.
Flickering like a dying bat,
a shattered umbrella thing, falling
down, pulled
to Earth, a man.
A man arms waving
in a panic, a man
flapping, drowning in air, a man
plunging alone
in the cold air
far away,
seen from afar.
Seen.
I see him, in silence,
the falling man.