Grace under pressure

She is pyrotechnics, feux d'artifice

Her northern light due south
Where the wind dies

There's trouble then

She swings in
Emotive orbit

Her hang time sabotaged
By lack of resistance

She is free-fall

Every last documented entry
Every bit of her composition
--The fabric of her

They fall from Grace
And onto the floor of new imaginings

What used to fit
Neatly into a box
Is presently a bitter pill to swallow

Down the hyperventilation
Shaft she goes

Where she lands nobody knows