His hand shakes as he steadies,
readies, himself against warm concrete,
pushing a broken body up to stand,
his journey halted by the ground.
From ears ringing does blood trickle
as vision swirls amongst groggy
head, his legs jelly in consistency
and knees locked in defiance of
the world bearing down
upon his brittle shoulders.
He looks towards the heavens,
the third floor balcony
parades on high, angels play their
trumpets in glory and he weeps.
Tears flood the landscape,
a simple rain across glass fragments
that protrude from cheek
and palm alike.