Ripcord

It’s the red-eyed Early Bird again today,
the pre-dawn flight, ABZ to MAN.
Drawn to your ward on the wings
of a jet; its engines throttling,
lifting and descending but leaving
me hovering at 20,000 feet,
surrounded by the endless stars
in their countless constellations,
backlit by the thin arc of sunrise
bathing the rim of the planet
in primordial light, suspending me
in this purgatory: the thought of you
dying expanding through my universe
like a parachute opening
inside my lungs.