One night I dreamt I was a butterfly flying all around and carefree
but in the back of my mind thought how could this ever really be?
And so when flying around in my own solitary and carefree way
I would once in a while stop on a flower and leaf to rest and stay.
Basking there in the warm sunshine without any instinct of fear
I was also then able to spread my wings and expose all my rear.
After a few moments quietly passed I began to fly off once again
and with a sense of purpose flew on ahead in that direction then.
A sudden gust of wind lifted me up high without any effort on my part
and I was carried forward at a pace that me made wander from the start.
I fluttered my wings a little to regain my balance in that turbulent air
which made me get out of breath in my attempt and struggle out there.
The inclination that came to me next was to stop somewhere and rest
so I flew onto a flower matching those hues with which I was blest.
It didn't take long for me to recover my unique composure and poise
when I was startled therein my dream scape by a dark shadow's noise.
I moved in what practically seemed to be a continuation of the dream
and was walking around amongst some flowers growing by a stream.
Having left the old house and going through a dark hallway and door
I was following the flight of a butterfly around the meadow for sure.
My feet were not even touching the ground out there as I moved along
and I couldn't feel anything solid under them which didn't seem wrong.
I would stop for a while and take off again in pursuit of that creature
following every move it was making and so embracing every feature.
It seemed to be unusually deft in keeping itself at a distance from me
even though I tried to get closer to it so that I could myself better see.
When I eventually came to a halt there at the end of my night's dream
I had the butterfly caught in the palm of my hand so it then did seem.
I awoke and opened my eyes expecting to see right there in my hand
the butterfly I had caught somewhere flying around in a dreamy land.
Instead of that beautiful creature something more remarkable I found
a scented coloured tissue which had butterflies printed on it all around.
My brother is a pilot,
Not just any old pilot...
A tail dragger pilot,
Planes made of spars and fabric,
Airframes part wood,
Fuel tanks sloshing in the wings
Either side above our heads,
Set the mags,
Hand crank the prop,
Turn on the fuel,
Hear her pop
And roar to life.
We strap in
And rev 'er up
To join the winds.
He yells, "She's yours!"
And I am piloting
Or rather gingerly sliding her
About the blue,
Skidding right or left,
Holding my breath,
Wondering how much I dare
To tip her up there in the air.
"I've got the stick!"
He yells, and I let go.
"Don't be afraid to fly it!"
"It's just a machine!"
"Make it do what you want it to do!"
And we are diving toward the ground,
Then bringing her up and tilting 'round.
"Give her fuel when you tilt to turn!"
He demonstrates, and we are standing
On the wing,
Perpendicular and looking to our left and down.
I know he's right,
That I am timid in my flight,
And he is brave with years of joy,
A pilot fearless since he was a boy.
"You want to land?"
I hear him say.
"No, that's alright!"
To prove how safe it is to fly,
He touches down,
Then bounces high,
And vaults us back into the sky.
We flit across the fields,
He flies beneath the power lines,
To show how spray planes catch the ends
He skies the plane at either end,
Then bee lines it to the badlands' edge
Where suddenly we're swooping down
Between the canyon walls, and sinking low,
Then, rising, turning to our right,
He sails us toward sun's dying light.
My only hope is that we'll land
Before the night
Erases all our sight.
And sure enough,
The air is calm;
The night is coming on;
Gusting breezes are all gone.
We gently settle once again,
Back at the ranch,
I help wheel her then
Into her waiting hangar pen.
Life can be lived all in a panic;
Fear fills us with a lingering dread,
But we should live our lives
Just like my brother said.
"It's just your life, so make it do
Whatever it is you want it to!"
And when you're changing
Your directions, give it the gas!
Don't let the fear coyotes
I am a bird
No, a fly
A flying fly
Or am I falling
Flying or falling
You can fly down
But can you fall up
Flying or falling
I could be Peter
But maybe I'm Alice
What if I stop
If I stop flying I'll fall
If I stop falling I'll hit the ground
Or will the ground hit me
The fields roll gold
against the emerald
and violet edges
of dusk creeping in
and I found you
an oak tree and
I took you in
while ravens watched
and there's nothing
of in between
I saw the fog
like a dream,
cold and cozy
against my parents
blue beach house,
a shabby thing
a shabby little sea town
and I watched
against the glass
and heard boats calling
know I'm safe
but the dinner dad made
The night owl
comes to take me home
and I'm longing
for some sense of
wraps those broom-bloom
wings around me
am so afraid to fly
because when I open eyes
into bright lights
what it means to die.
I angle my upper body forward from my reclined seat back,
To gaze through three panes of a frosty porthole,
To view a blanket of lights on darkened earth.
But they're below me, I'm distanced.
I'm thirty thousand feet in the air.
Incandescent highways splinter and mend like aimless root networks,
Funneling wingless fireflies like worker ants. And I, here,
Hoping your luminescence is, too, wandering to your hive or elsewhere,
Hoping against hope that you notice me in transit.
Though I'm thirty thousand feet from anyone else.
At least, but likely closer to the distance between our moon and sun,
Hurdling through galaxies at the speed of super-sound,
Sure that even at the end of space, past comets and nebulase,
That even if I get turned around,
I'm thirty thousand feet from anyone else.
As the lights ebb and dim from outside my window panes,
Gradually giving way to blackened earthly landmass,
I will recline my seat slightly and rest my eyes,
Hoping the steady burn of the plane's fog lights guides you,
Thirty thousand feet closer to where you need to be.
He’d snip his wings & plummet into stone,
if it meant raising her. But ...it didn’t.
So instead, they beat faster than they ever had, before.
An ambulance in the sky:
he held her in his arms,
crossing the clouds, as
dyeing ..the ocean ~~~~~~~ below them.
In the midst of conversation A question rose out of the blue,
What would I do if such opportunity were to arise.
In a conversation about long term goals without hesitation or notion
Without any specifics given to her question I asked what opportunity.
She laughed slightly and repeated the question.
This time reaching inside of her chest and pulling her heart into a closer view.
She waited for reply.
I wandered around the look in her eye glancing back down at a now throbbing heart.
She said well, In a topic of long term ambition show me that I am not wrong about you.
I trust you well enough to do exactly what I know your about to do.
She stated nothing further.
With that being said I'd like to think that I made the right decision.
The openness of conversing about any and everything, the hint that actions speak louder than words.
I did what I suppose any sane man would do.
I flung myself into her chest and landed dead in the center of her heart without fear of missing.