Some parted the water cleanly
from the greatest height,

     some from lower, some
less cleanly,

     bodies reaching terminal
velocity, in three seconds halfway,
in eight seconds, entry

     into the deepest pool,
gulped up by sapphire,

     time moving a bit less
predictably, (or perceptions
flowing relative to impact,)

     seen in phase changes
at the airport drop-off,

     this area is for loading 
and unloading only. Solid. Gas.
Liquid. (Solid?)

     is how it goes in theory,
but with a final embrace the breath
can turn

     to late night surfacing
from dreams, it’s risky–

     with enough distance,
the water approaches soft

     as a bedrock, the meter’s
running then suddenly it’s ticketing,
the T.S.A– 

     Pour it out. Pour it out they say,
a breathless 1,710 miles of momentum
remains between

     that last blissful day of swimming 
in the shadow of the high-rise,
before

     the unkind angle, the empty 
room, the actual impact
of this

     belly-up
good-bye.