More pitch out, like a load of fence posts.
It is a grotesque circus performance,
a high-wire act without the wire,
without a net. They fall
like unparachuted skydivers
For them, all hope is lost.
That one in the broken window
waves his arms like the sailor
tossed into the sea, exhausted
near death, he flails at searchers
fearing no one has seen him,
knowing it is his last chance to live.
There above, I seem to know that one.
He is hero to his children
who drags himself from the commuter train,
into the house of love, ready at once
to laugh and play. And that one
at the window, dressed in rich silk
and gold jewelry, I know him too well.
He is a Wall Street thief who cannot
bribe his way out of this looming doom.
And that one in white above,
perched like a wingless dove,
he is a dishwasher who escaped civil war
in El Salvador leaving behind
his wife and daughter to earn enough
to pay for their passage to freedom,
to the American Dream,
to this dream. He thinks of them.
Those two in one shattered window
are brothers. Working together
in the same office had brought joy
to their parents. They assist others
with no care for themselves.
That one from afar I know him well.
He is paralyzed, unable to leave
or wave for help. From his wheelchair
with good cheer and urgent voice,
he drives all the others to take steps to safety.