Tonight I will dream
that I am
falling.
I will clutch for safety
and grab nothing.
It will dawn on me
that I am
twelve stories high,
and the unforgiving ground
is quickly approaching.
My face to the sky,
I will accept my fate
and brace for impact.
A moment before
I am no more than
a starburst on the pavement–
I will wake.
Gasping for air, strangely
metallic in taste,
I will take a moment
to realize I am still alive.
My eyes will be open, but I will see
nothing but darkness.
My ears will be alert
to nothing but
my dry sobs.
Still paralyzed from the dream,
I will take inventory
of my legs, my arms, my spine,
and only when they are all found in tact
will the air stop tasting
like blood.
Shaking, I will turn blindly
to my left, wanting only
to murmur into your sleepy ear,
"I had a bad dream."
My fingertips will reach
for your shoulder, your back,
eager to trace your warmth
under my palm.
I will know
that the only way to calm my breathing
will be to tell my bones
that you are lying tangent to me,
wrapping yourself around my curves,
so close that if I am
silent, I might be able
to hear your heart beat–
and this will bring me back to life,
for my bones know
that you would never let me
fall.
Tonight, I will dream
that I am
falling.
I will prepare myself
to meet Death.
And I will whisper to you
in the dark, until I remember
my voice cannot carry
a thousand miles in the wind
to where you are sleeping.
So I will close my eyes,
force my chest still,
and wait for the nightmare
to strike again,
knowing it is better
than being awake.