dear person twenty thousand feet below me,
i’m sorry i couldn’t be your shooting star tonight.
i’m sorry i couldn’t fulfill your wish to
leave;
your wish to wander.
but i’m hoping that you know,
i’m listening.
and i could feel your presence;
i could feel your urge
to be on the same flight as me
so that at least you could be somewhere
other than the four walls that entrap you.

it seems like we’re the only ones awake right now
while your bedroom lamp glimmers twenty thousand feet below me
and while i look out of the plane’s window, looking at your lamp glimmering twenty thousand feet above you.

but don’t worry,
i’ll be here, listening.

my adolescence was meant to be viewed through
orange tones and heavily grained film

Dark was my life
with clouds deterring
the stars until you
shone as the moon.

what i love about poetry

poetry doesn't talk
or converse

it yells, screams
simmers, caresses
electrifies, vivifies
soars, carries, raps
pampers, wraps
dreams, dances
laments, soothes
embraces, catapoults
the truth, the
zoetic gold
of the heart

even if tainted, alloyed,
buried, misshapen,
domesticated,
melted, newly formed

the gold,
if you dare

read it,
if you dare

wear it
unveils the
24 karat
jewelry of the
human heart