04-03-2015, 08:32 PM
I am rooted to the seat
and yet flying,
arms reaching for threads too fine,
legs wrapping poles that slip
away...
In a breath they vanish, into smoke and glittering colours
but they're still flying, still calling -
They reach out their hands and I fly with them
And then the thunderous applause shatters
this dream: broken glass underfoot
and this numb cushion of mine, unpalatable
after the sweet cold air in my throat
and on my back in this tight fitting
wingsuit I'd worn...
They've taken the wingsuit now
and their illusion as well.
and yet flying,
arms reaching for threads too fine,
legs wrapping poles that slip
away...
In a breath they vanish, into smoke and glittering colours
but they're still flying, still calling -
They reach out their hands and I fly with them
And then the thunderous applause shatters
this dream: broken glass underfoot
and this numb cushion of mine, unpalatable
after the sweet cold air in my throat
and on my back in this tight fitting
wingsuit I'd worn...
They've taken the wingsuit now
and their illusion as well.
When it finally snows here, I'll catch a snowflake and put it in the fridge.