Tip Over

Teetering, calloused heels barely touching cliff stone,
I tumble from rock into river, the concrete
world grows abstract. Orchids unfurl
into asymmetrical faces, sky drips
into swirling cosmos, stones droop over stilts,
Botticelli's fine lines swept away as dust.

People, splayed stars spinning on oily surface, join hands,
churn sapphire, emerald, charcoal blues, puce, mango, lemon lime
yellow into hypnotizing curls, question marks
braiding into mud.

Fingers to wrist.
Fingers to ankle.
Shapes moving towards End,
coated in the same armour, touching bare skin,
feeling for foreign textures
on river bottom, waiting to sink.