Trying to reach Kate

The instinct for survival has been bred
out of her
and she stands on clifftops, platforms, bridges -
an exhausted think tiding knee crane
configuring the messages
she would make -
her pick up stick skeleton
gravity alphabet.

Perhaps, if
the facts
were not mathematic,
if over the cliff
BT men were fixing pylons,
reconnecting brain cables,
packing tools away to keep tidy
clifftops, platforms, bridges -
where the weight of a newborn is helium
where sleep is concrete.