Revisionist Poetry – “Diving” – Diving Through the Grey, v.4

Glass sky. Black stone.
Mist cools the temple of shops.
Bronze bodies arrested mid-pray, mid-fall —
light like a sudden coin.

We sit, hush-banked by water,
sip what is called coffee, hold our breath.
The divers keep falling; the sound keeps counting us out.
For a moment, the mall forgets itself.