I wish I could dream I was drowning,
transfixed by a wavering sky, his falling body
diving to save me, breaking the surface,
plunging through my rising breath.

His legs would kick, would propel him deeper
through the water, where he would reach me,
his outstretched hands pulling me free
from that day he leaped into air above me.

Instead, my dreams are of him falling on me,
a speck floating down from a bridge,
slowly becoming something more,
a body swimming through air, arms and legs flailing,
then less, an impression in the dirt beside me.

Now, I fear even the flight of birds,
flinching whenever a brown speck dives from a ledge,
half-expecting, half-knowing, the sky
will fill with something larger,
more than spread wings drifting through currents.