Quietness... a rarity in and of itself.

I walk to the edge to the aircraft-grade aluminum,
Sleepy rain hints and gathers into droplets onto my panting breast,
While thoughts thrash about my head in a assiduous mosh,
Again I find myself needing of a reminder of where I am.

My toes cling to the grooves beneath my feet,
My wrist absent-mindfully flails my fingers about.
I try to focus: ignore the persistent distraction,
Amidst the barrage of bleary recollections, I try to remember where I am.


Sprinkling hints become drizzly volleys.
Drizzly volleys become grizzly barrages.
Rain grows Clamorous and Almighty.
It grows in volumes, like a roaring crowd drowning out my thoughts.
I stop thinking, recognizing that all is quiet save for the cheering rain
throwing itself down at my feet,
casting itself onto my shoulders,
rolling down my back,
adorning wet kisses on my face.

I stare in awe. I spread my arms right above my head.
Behind my back,
Down past my bent knees,
Over the arched 747-wing
I launch into nothingness.
The rain droplets hold their breath.

My mind ceases to register my Body's endeavors--it tries not. It needs not.
Legs and Arms and Hips guide me up, around, and back down.

I can still see the wing when I streamline into the water.
It only feels like being born again. Leaving my old life without dying.