flight

oh child move back and up over that green grassy hill, fall, roll, like in card board boxes and sack races on the last day of school. once i won a box of chocolates, because they liked my colors and scream in the dark, a fall, a very harsh and real awakening, a very strange and surreal vision of yourself on the floor, floating, sinking, sitting, staying

still

but in the water you move quickly, swimming for the shore, or the open waters, looking for sharks until you find this strange large pirate ship on its way somewhere, on its way to an island where they paint gold on children's faces and teach them how to fly from branch to branch, over mountain tops, on the tallest trees you'll ever see. one lands next to you, one stops and peers from above, one gives you a gift of a small orange fruit and insists you eat. you slowly take a bite and as your teeth sink in the world is laid flat, the sun turns black, the sky is a sparkling fabric and you are inside the tiniest expanse of dream like a coffin on the final day, or the first day, early and too soon.

sit with me

help me look for the secret missing piece that flutters just beyond our vision, just beyond where we can see. does it grow? does it form wings and toes? we follow it backwards up through a small square door in the sky, up through heaven's air duct and then we fall through some dusty ceiling panel into a meeting of sleeping men, and land on their table naked and entwined.

we stretch out

we recline

we fall asleep so gently