Dreams of Planes

Sleepwalking,
I traverse neighborhoods of my past and present,
though not quite the same as I remember.
My eyes scan the sky above a house
similar to one in which I used to live,
as if waiting for something,
but not knowing what.
And there is always a plane
flying uncomfortably low,
using bow-tie maneuvers
more befitting the Sopwith Camel than a 747.
I stand fixed to the ground,
knowing what will happen
like I had seen the movie many times before.
The plane barrel rolls around again,
its nose now pointed at the ground,
in my direction.
As it approaches, descending rapidly,
I can only brace myself for the impact,
but the only crash I feel
is my return to consciousness as I awake,
breathless.