we are ascending,
like birds who pray.

losing cabin
pressure,

when pressed,
against the floor.

dropping oxygen masks,
from the ceiling.

ripping off buttons
from the doors.

regulated
breathing.

my stomach,
turbulent.

from either
gravity or grace,

clouds of blue,
and skies of grey.

falling, falling,
always ******* falling:

though i’m still not sure
what this means to me.