By day, above all the summer waves, my toes point up. And in the haze, it's there. Yet another one.
My big fat toe stretches and touches it, follows the scratch above sea. It's where I now stare as it moves inch by slow inch.
Amazing how deliberate I can move all these tiny jets across the horizon, so far out of reach when I am half asleep on a beach, breathing in all that sweet air and noticing all that is noticeable somewhere within the fuselage of me.
Published by Punch Drunk Press,2018
Sunday, March 10, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: dreaming