My parachute bones fall faster than sound,
I jumped without light at nightfall.
I stand up here to
make Rio de Janeiro
jealous of my fall.
I love with everything at the end of my wrists,
arms outstretched, wind in my palms, saying hello
to the ground that I will angel-hug, a dent
of my body in an open embrace, a tableau of fall.
Cloud break scores my skin as I tell
a skydiver to look up more. He shouts
to not bother him, he has always plummeted.
It’s safer this way, easier to ignore the sun
weighing him down, while he wishes for a waterfall.