Mr. Allen — Shiro Murano’s “Pole Vault”

Like a wasp poised to sting, Pole in hand he sprints near. Then, as though it were normal, He floats up toward the raised horizon And, having flung his prop away, Crosses the border. Descent alone remains. He falls bereft, And, As he awkwardly hits the ground, The falling horizon too Gives his shoulder a knock.