He spirals down like a leaf,
disconnected from all sustenance,
destined for the ground.

There is no fighting it now,
his body gliding effortlessly
through the night air
which shifts just enough
to soften the inevitability
of his fall.

Little by little, whatever he used to be
drops away, in resignation to his descent.

His form is a stranger now
to anyone who might be
looking for him under bridges,
or by the river.

This coming undone
is without witness, lost in a sea
with nameless others who share his fate
on an otherwise ordinary Thursday.

Something numbs him
as he slowly slips; an ironic gift
in his torment, like a pane of glass
before his trembling hands,
allowing him to see the world
as though it were his own,
though tonight it lies
cruelly beyond his reach.

Claire Juno, © 2014

…written with compassion for the struggle so many face with depression,
and with love for my brother, who is trying again to survive the undertow.
May God be with the nameless and the known tonight.