A yearning hand stretches upward,
seeking the untouchable,
longing for the spacious bed—ever white, ever blue.
Looming, seeming in reach,
and yet, from this new hill, seeming farther,
more distant.
Am I truly so far removed from you?
Will a ladder bring me closer?
Should I climb to the roof?
It may cause a panic in the street
as I leap into the ever-blue, ever-white embrace.
I find my peace in places much too high,
but I am no winged creature.
Yet every time I've fallen,
it convinced me I can fly.