For Paul

 ‘….and now one final dive
into a dry pool,’ you wrote,
your suicide note
left on the table by an empty cup
before your reckless arrow of descent
sped headlong to the crags below
the gorge with all the bold abandonment
of youth that could not know
or count the cost to  those alive

and did not, in that moment,

How could imagination dare
your poised intent
that fatal plummet down the cliff
the crush of skull on rock
the after-shock of rage and grief –

so we freeze-frame you in mid-air
because we must –
an arc of flight against the cumulous
with all our hopes for you
suspended there.