I love looking at highways from aeroplanes, They snake across the blotchy, flat earth And slither into the endless blue haze,
I wonder what they find there, Is it love or death? Or old friends? Or happiness?
Perhaps, their happiness Is in the curly-q designs They scrawl like ancient script
I trace it, Running my fingers over three-pane glass, Until they disappear
And the clouds look like fingers and hands, Reaching out to touch me, Expanding with every breath I take, Calling me down to the river, Calling me down to the trees
But my happiness is in the single, breathless moment of take-off, The moment I feel my heart lurch, And bang into the something inside me pushing me forward, Into the illusory blue