Alive

but he fell
and couldn’t feel a thing
except the rush
the intangible through his hair
he knew there was blackness
unavoidable darkness ahead
but every split moment was alive
he could feel his fingernails
and the smell of sea
the gasp of breath
the sound of a gull
and the taste
the falling
it no longer mattered
whether headfirst
or sideways
or circles of figure 8’s
the salt on his lips
a tongue in his mouth
yet no voice to yell
the wind took it away
he knew no one was there
above or below
vividness
the cuts on his arms
and hands
his white shirt whipping
and his feet stifled
in his nike’s
everything alive
and everything dead
in a moment
he knew it would hurtle
against harsh rocks
approaching
and then he
flew