The certainty of appearances is that optical illusion is never what the shapes seam.
I chewed through realisation as if my life vest depended on it yet still could not reach its bare threads.
... whilst flying, fantasy was realised when the clouds hiccupped and each colour crawled over horizons supine. There was never a notion to ‘scare’, I could have watched them bleed into continental sneeze at equator’s lap. Just as I could watch as shadows on the plane wing roll like mercury balls let loose from thermometer.
For a month I’d rise from my bed and across the glint of waters I watch the planes take off up the runway over the Harbour.
Now it was my turn.
Home again, home again, I.
surrendered to the inevitable of what I’d leave behind.
Forward I calculate the math of 13 and the euphemism of engine roar for drum.
36,000 feet, arches in the sky are as whipped as meringue whites and in the peace of blue I reflective swim in your eyes.
behind is not quite child, eager she pleases with her enthusiasm of “Why, Daddy does…” I drift to next cloud, wisp to whisper.
My ascent stabilised as distance clouds once turbulent attracted by atmosphere of calm, transferred in amphitheatre of pinkish orange sunset hues.
I commute a ditch that connects two homes, both broken that once chalked motion as my life and as each physicality houses natures’ paradise on earth
a veteran on limits boundaries
connect to optimise helix maps to flavour my imagination
Your inspiration of encouragement connects to overlook moorings that secure unspoiled as co-pilot wings in my heart.
Lights length stretches as indulgence on the window double glaze glass that travels with the planes and ‘she’ sneezes across the aisle so that gravity jumps laboured to merge with the daze off polluted fuels.
Not one in mask to sign Swine Flu.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.