the fall

we slip

on the cold ice that drapes
the steps

like cake
icing.

we tumble, grabbing
the rail,

but that too is coated.
we see

the sky for what it is,
as we
lose contact
with the ground.
a blue

egg
above us, the whisper
of clouds.

a black bird
carrying something in
it's

yellowed beak

to keep
things going.