My hero once stood by that window

(Was it always that old?)

Rested his fevered head

On the cool glass

(Was the glass cooler then?

Or was he more feverish than me?)

And imagined the long drop down

(Some things never change)

And the night guard's wondered face: recognition

In death

(Although the night guard is long dead)



(It would have been nice to die on the same spot)