like sour-smelling spores
we throw ourselves to the breeze,
sea-spray wetting our faces with
hollow tears.

helpless to our leaden blood
we trudge forward,
and there’s no comfort in being
last in line.

and then,

like dominos we fall,
shaking hands pressed tightly
to the sallow skin of our chests,
lost for breath.

a quiet moment as the rocks meet us,
bone-shards and sea glass
painting the shoreline
with shimmer and red.

i can’t breathe, but though
blackness swallows the edges
of my vision,
i have a second left to see.

I see, a thousand feet up,

a thousand counting down.