We both lived on the fourteenth floor, across from one another, Building C.
After a number of test runs (from what the video blindly reports) she
ascends fourteen more, chair in hand. Peeling back the façade, I imagine her
in a run-down box, fluorescent lights blinking mindlessly, sharing
the command of a pushed button, 二十八. But these stories are far
from me, nearly twenty-five years in the past. She frames herself, briefly
in sky, in view. The following day, I stop to look at what you can’t see.
No being, no blood, just an impression flesh makes when it hits soft ground.
How a body fell cleanly on its side, a left arm extended, reaching?
A stranger outlined in grass: Emptiness