(20 minute poetry)
Crying air
flying where
the ocean's spray
and the summer days
last a lifetime and that's
measured by
some heavenly hand
on my lifeline.

I breathe in only to drown.

There's a sanctuary somewhere
crying air's not allowed
there.

At thirty seven thousand feet
I looked for and forward to meet
my maker.

More than this the absolute when they shoot you down in flames,
more than names on a cenotaph or cursory lines on a graph,
more in a laugh than a tear
we are all and more.