He never came back down.
(Out of Body Experience)
Not the ceiling. Me .
Don’t look back .
I floated six inches above my own chest. From that height, my body was a beached thing, pajamas twisted, mouth open on a wet snore. My mother sat in the rocker, knitting something gray. I waved my new, translucent hand. She didn’t look up. Of course she didn’t. I was made of nothing but window glass and held breath. He never came back down
I’m the one who did.
There is a version of me still rising. Still passing the bride, the firefighter, the man with the tie. Still heading for the dark between stars. my body was a beached thing
At fifty miles up, I met the others.