(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
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