Your name was sung in the seagull's wings
that day.
But we did not hear it.
Instead she told me to stop looking
over the edge
for spots that could have held a body
in its last moments;
railings that might have felt the warm grip
of hesitation,
and the last release to flight.

We let ourselves forget, allowed
our eyes to jump with the dolphins below.
And we even forgot about your possibility
for a moment --
or perhaps just did not hear your last
glance to the sky.

Your silent jump convulsed our bodies,
but we did not feel it.
We did not feel
the gates clash with too much sorrow so that
some gold chipped off and lightly dusted
your convoluted shape
which winked up at us
and whispered of forgotten moments --
but they were carried away by the wind
and we did not hear it.

From our gated zenith above
your hole in the rocks,
all we could do was stare
and try and scream your name
but we did not know it.