The death dream

I do not tend to dream of death. But some months, weeks, hours, or years ago in a time close to this time, I had a dream in which I died and knew I would die. It was a dim and shadowy time of day. I am in the back seat of a car (something like a Toyota, from the inside I know it is light blue). Fog fills the air around the car with foam in great goo-ing currents. S is in the front seat. A woman is driving. Who, I cannot remember. I see her face in the mirror. Maybe Julia, maybe my mother. The road is winding up a mountain. We feel the trees unseen on the edges. I am struck with a certain, focused anxiety that I will die that very minute, around the next blind corner. Feeling the steaming fear of helplessness, feeling the very fingers of gravity pulling towards mortality, a clarity descends. I reach for S’s hand, warm and heavy as a river stone. Time loosens out the window, our souls pour together through our hands like water into water.