He fell so gracefully
for a moment it looked liked he meant it.
The fall was perfectly balanced like 
the sweep of a dancer’s arm in reverence
or the endless curve at the base of a spine 
inviting the hand or head to seek asylum.
The fall from grace can be subtle, a flower 
following the sun or sudden as the jerk of the rope.
I never learned what caused his fall
something simple, a mere turn of the screw
or complex as the port de bras.
For me it was the arch of an eyebrow
and blindness in a careless moment.