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twelve hours to london, but backwards it's better

the clouds crowd far beneath my feet;
but i—i’m distant! i wish she could see
the lands stretched free beside my wings;
better yet, i wish

she could stay and see me.

twelve hours to london and ten to parís,
but i—i’m reversing! back home where i'm free!
the skies become my heart’s soft, wisping-sigh dream:
by flashlight, I add

an eighteen, a three

Submitted: Sunday, July 22, 2007
Edited: Wednesday, March 23, 2011

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