My ears cracked and popped,
like an LP skipping its threads.
Clouds soft like my mother's hand when I was sick
rolled endlessly, unerringly towards all points
while I sat behind plastic, rivets and sheet-metal
waiting for that moment,
that break in the ululating pattern,
that hole punched in a tremendous comforter of gray and bone-white hills
like an LP skipping its threads.
Clouds soft like my mother's hand when I was sick
rolled endlessly, unerringly towards all points
while I sat behind plastic, rivets and sheet-metal
waiting for that moment,
that break in the ululating pattern,
that hole punched in a tremendous comforter of gray and bone-white hills
like pencil through paper.
I waited two hours, two hours while my stomach, ignored, complained its boredom of my company.
My eyes sparkled with a desire to see the vapor mountains reveal their false peaks in a ten thousand foot smile.
At last, in a moment when the hills and valleys shifted slightly in a moment of atmospheric weakness,
I had my moment.
A vertiginous, dizzying glimpse of my small world 30,000 feet below,
Steady in a snow globe way,
Inviting me to shake it and free-fall into its open arms.
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