Her death began with a touch,
A push,
A shove,
An uncaring caress.
Or perhaps a little before?
With a racing heart,
And a beating breast?
Or maybe with terror.
Creeping, yet vast,
Holding her back,
Yet letting Death pass.
But why and when?
Meaningless.
What matters is the how.
The way she flew,
Then lay to rest,
Upon the concrete floor.
