Indifferent hands
showed him the way
towards the ledge,
indifferent hands
pushed him
over the edge ….

He flew
like a fallen angel;
arms outspread
fingers pointing to the sky
… perhaps in one final act
of prayer and absolution
that only he can know and tell.
Face upturned,
eyes blinded
by the glaring sun.
Strange, he probably thought,
how something so present
can remain unseen.
And he must have closed his eyes,
to block out the light.

The passing people
hurrying off
to deadlines
morning chores
and work;
walking or riding vehicles
that were ferrying them to meet
their mundane cares,
raced one another
across the length of Taft Avenue.
Too caught up
with their own worries
to even smile or say “hi”.
Wrapped up
in the ticking of their clock.

When the dull thud
resounded on the road,
they all stopped and stared
at his…

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