Rooftop apex, shingled out, down.
No sun—no sky.
I, crouched, hunched over, peaking at gravity
from the highest point.
No snow—no fear.
Leafless trees cackle as skeletons,
brown, soaked in gray.
Posed at the edge, I, a seabird twisted,
eyes diving for fish.
No scales—just concrete.
Fingers curled at the edge,
white like talons. Ready to press.
I’m ready to swim. To taste gray
earth, which rocks me like the sea.