Fallstreak Hole

At night,
the clouds descend.

They cover our faces
softly enough
that we do not wake.

We breathe through them.

One cloud took
a woman’s dream
of the child
she had not thought of.

In the dream,
he was waiting
beside a mailbox
that no longer exists.

By morning,
the cloud had darkened
underneath.

It moved east
with the others,
heavier.

By afternoon,
it could no longer
hold her.

She rained
for twenty minutes
over a town
beyond the mountains.