FREEFALL

The dream ends on impact.
I wake wrapped inside

a flannel comforter,
thinking how easy to be

wingless, foundering in flight.
Relief, giving in,

a long slow slide
into sickness,

into love or liquor or insanity,
the poet in his dreams

waving from the brink.
Sky at your back bluer

than Matisse, falling’s
sweet as destiny:

the earth rises
up to us like bread.