The Air Before the Ground

I am a knight paid off to fall
from his steed before the lance's point
drives into flesh.
I am at the point
where the world I observe
is just: the multitude of limbs that is the sun,
the clouds in their ephemeral state
and an endless slit of heartbreak blue.

I realize what putting on the helmet meant,
now that it serves to mask dishonor.
Now that it serves as a night,
for the smile slashed on a face surrendering
to vertigo, under the weight of armor.

The crowd, pressing silver between covert palms,
is screeching for my death
but they don't know
that only I can see
the split-second sky.