November 17th 2021
For a little while now I’ve only been able to sleep
by thinking my way into dreams of total freefall.
I start with an Earth a dome below, bluer
than I know how to picture, horizons lenses
like lemniscates, curved impossibly. I’m so high up
there’s nothing to signal my fall, yet, which happens
at first like a slow, swaying, sink through liquid
light, or a sac of amniotic fluid.
Then I blister past an aeroplane
in which I sit behind the wing watching
me blink through flocks of swallows and condors, cities
picking themselves together, horrent, taller
now, more total, and I’m suddenly not in a dream,
and my dataless core gets loosed all over the pavement.