So strange,
That a window this small,
No bigger than my notebook,
Shows the vast sea of clouds,
Far above a rolling storm,
Lightning flashing beneath us
Like electric eels that live in the sky,
And endless galaxies beyond,
A little rocket ship,
Braving the horizon.
And as we descend,
Another smattering of lights appears,
Like a reflection of space on the surface of the earth,
And I know we’re here.

I don't think about the leaves
or I guess I do
but I try to not think about them too often
I don't really think about you either
or when I do,
I don't see your face
I don't feel your body
I don't even smell you


I think about the way the world looked,
1,200 miles above ground
the cloudless sky
You looked at me like
it was hilarious
I was a cat in water
wanting you to hold me
but you peeled my arms off of you
slowly
how you walked away when
I tried to order the coffee
as the plane was boarding
I don't see your eyes
Your hands don't wrap around my waist
in my memories
I don't think they really ever did,
did they?

I think about how she must feel lying next to you
how similar the side of bed
is to the cold vacant moments when you
turn the light off,
sigh and push the pillows under your head
the distance it's gaping
I still feel it,
a mile and a half away  
in the dark your back
stands out  
She'll spend years chasing
nothing

I think about how he made me laugh
he found this eruption of giggles
and ripped it out of me
until I couldn't stop
the bed shook in this
rhythmic pattern
and I could just lie there
knowing at least he wanted me
at least he knew how to stop time
at least he understood each line
unlike you did
I think about the compromises I made
to be seen after you

the times I turned away from
lashings because
at least I can remember the color of his eyes when he looked at me
at least I can place exactly where his hands laid on my side
at least he knows my favorite line of every song

he knew how to pull
the world into the slow melancholic
better than you ever could have,
how my heels turned toward him when the buzzing of street lights
didn't distract me
his hands could at least slide up
grip into
anything  
and I didn't have to beg

I
didn't
have
to
beg  

even when I knew,
it was wrong

he could quote back the words to me
the moments we shared
held purpose
made me feel like this where
I could belong.

The mood is right;
headache,
loud noise,
babies crying,
tight spaces.

You notice all the curves and lines you would have never saw, some people close their eyes while others stare out a small glass circle to admire white cotton candy and mix of green and blue.
No matter your place at the moment, you dream of the adventure to come when you reach the place where the ants roam.

The mood is right;
head dreaming,
loud thoughts,
babies learning,
new spaces.

Is there anyone else out there who wouldn't mind
falling from the night sky,
onto those pretty lights below?

The pilot just happens to fall asleep.
It's completely out of your control.

A quick and
unavoidable
separation of body and soul.

I'd love to fall from the night sky onto the
pretty lights below.

It's natural to look down
But if you look up
An airbus night is
The best place to be starstruck

You have always dreamed of aviation,
cellophane wings glued to your heartstrings--
my marionette lover of hopes hanging high
enough to abolish the air from heavy lungs.

I watch your cavern chest rise but never fall,
tsunami tides engraved permanently airborne,
intertwining hands with time as suspension
silences destruction.

Time does not exist here--only periwinkle
veins illuminated by morning light,
wispy eyelashes beginning their ascension.

You are all light, and altitude, and grace.

I am grounded, tethered to comfort, but
the curvature of your spine breathes sanctuary.
Your shoulders-- broad, significant--
as if to fingerpaint the alpines you will ascend
once the wrath of gravity is conquered.

When your parachute soul finally gathers
enough strength to pilot the destined flight,
I hope you remember to save
a window seat for my heart.