Poem #43: Was He Caught?

“trust me” she’d said,
almost invisible without light,
almost laughing without sound,
and so, masking his aching eyes with
the back of a weathered palm,
he stepped to the edge of the rooftop,
pebbles skittering into the obsidian water
under the rubber soles of his
not quite cool shoes.

he exhaled softly in relief,
trusting that, everytime someone brought him this high,
they would inevitably reverse the action
like broken gearshifts.

“are you ready?” she asked,
holding out a pale hand that somehow
glowed in the moonlight, making him think
of how unnatural they were

his feet left the ground like a cloud
crashing to earth, and he gasped
--not out of shock that she had released his hand
and now stared unbelievingly from above,
her mouth a frozen yell of “stop--”
but because from here,
the air was ten times more dazzling,
and whistled in his ears
full symphonies.

the water swam upwards,
and his body bit through to the bottom,
as he realized that finally, he had found something reliable
that would catch him if he fell
with open arms,
and keep him forever.