While Walking My Dog

While walking my dog in Forest Hills,

a man fell through the trees,

ending his life at my feet.

His eyelids closed, windows to sills.

Later I recalled the lightning crack

of branch, the flush of leaves,

The thud of flesh against concrete.

His eyelids closed, he lay on his back.

A six-floor freefall through trees: his  plan.

He lived with a mother who grieves

for a son, dead in his forties.

His eyelids closed, his lips plushest  skin.

He lay on his back, eyelids locked, lips plush skin.

I recognized, but did not know, the man.

Shannon Keith Kelley

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