The people, moved, and like miniature,
looked down on from the mountains.
Empires look small from aeroplane
windows so sometimes I insist on the aisle
seat, where I can imagine
you; big and full of all the worlds
I've ever known and will ever cry for. Except
perhaps for the earth-
a journey I can't yet fathom. Still
I pursue the future. Even under a microscope
you could barely see me shake. ****
wanders while strength strains to meet
the struggle. My knuckles
white through wishing so hotly
for you for you for you
to introduce me to the faces
of you, illuminated by the drive along
the coasts where the waves crash
and the gulls caw and houses slide towards
the blue inevitable and planes soar
right in front of our eyes. And yes, sometimes
through very high buildings of time
& money time & money time & money.
The sun was there that evening.
“As was I," confessed the moon.
Possibly the most Aquarius thing I've ever written.