I Plucked A Poem From The Air (Poetry)

I plucked a poem from the air
its shadow hesitated there
hung shy as fruit whose bruises hide
a bitter-sweetness deep inside

I cut it open — sliced it thin
caught the tang of blood within
and squeezed it till the colours ran
to form their own dark diagram

I savoured every broken line
counted pips yet found no sign
of heritage or history
its birth akin to autopsy

I pegged it cold upon the page
peeled the layers — skinned off rage
it lay defenceless but still kept
a secret grief, a tear unwept