(foreshadowing a year of flying) 
in the bones 
do you feel it?
the void is substantial
below, behind
here, reader 
I am in your hands
we're equally invisible
I am already aloft
afloat 
I am falling 
I am in your hands 
the sky is the mind 
I see from the
window seat 
consider parts of
the fleece 
bright and dark 
the sorter's bin 
clouds are a manner
of speech 
wherever your feet
are 
that's the way 
I surrender 
from inside a cloud 
miracle of perspex
is nothing
I pile out through
that camel's eye window 
start my religion
this way 

 




