with pins and needles spreading up her leg,
like love curling itself into her breast and breath
stroking into her lungs with scorching ice,
her feet tumble one over the other in a race
down the hill towards a playground of voices.
she's drifting away - lone leaf borne aloft
on eddies of rippling wind with only her aching knee
to be the tear in the crisp crimson of her leaf ship.
it's ripping through veins filled with light and she's no longer
streamline, but there are enough heartbeats to touch
toes wrapped in too-loose shoes to cement-stained
ground and land on the other side of the hill.