We stopped beside the railings, years above

the harmless foaming spittle-waves, your hands

inside your sleeves as though you knew the land

would punish both of us before the shove -

which came without your help. I threw myself

into the breeze - you didn’t wheeze or cry,

but blankly watched your brittle lover fly

into the floor. I hit the coastal shelf,

survived the fall beyond all reasoned doubt.

The people found me somewhere safe to dwell

wherein my Clara couldn’t raise a hell

of my conditions. When I wanted out

they let you in. I thought I’d said enough:

‘Oh Clara, I do not deserve your love.’