Death dreaming

I stand upon a cliff overhang.
Boulders bake in the sun
a hundred feet below.
"Fall forward, fly"
the wind teases.
I spread my arms.
The ecstatic rush of air,
blurred sandstone.
Impact, heart bursts
in my mouth.

I float above the carpet.
Darkness. A clock ticks.
Mom weeps downstairs.
The door swings open.
Dad clops in from the night.
Boots, coat, hardhat.
Her arms surround him
with mourning.
Dad climbs the steps.
He falls to his knees.
I spread my wings,
cross feet overhead.
Dad's prayers ascend and
stroke me softly
with incense.
Warmth dissolves me.

We walk a city square,
autumn's yellow falling.
I cringe in the cold,
turn to Dad beside me.
"You're not dead!" he says.
A flock of pigeons
takes gray to the sky.
I mourn Death's loss.

Scott Speck
10/29/98