Gone
I am going to Death on a tiger.
My journey is not hard; we talk all the way.
There are scratches on us but we look forward; the scratches don’t hurt.
An eyelash of mine falls on the tiger’s head.
I pick it up, wish for safe passage but drop it.
The tiger shakes its head; the eyelash has gone.
He tells me we have nearly arrived; there is no more talking.
I never knew tigers could leap so high.
* Jo Mortimer has been having a good time with her writing, recently. You can see what’s what, here: http://certainthings-jo.blogspot.com/