This is not real.
This can't be real.
How slowly time is passing as she falls.
How dark the sky is, how wet.
How he stares down at her, incredulous.
The force of his hands against her shoulders - the pressure, the push...
She still feels it, as if his ghost followed her down, down to the water.
Such impact. Such cold.
Her own ghost, dislodged.
But not lost. Not far.
Tethered and tangled, they roll again and again in the churn of the waves.
And then back down.
Just a glimpse.
The smooth cliff walls.
A hand - her own? - rises from the spray.
She can no longer see him,
The water, from above and below, is like a sheet.
Poem inspired by Tori Amos' Night of Hunters & the goddess Sedna