I know
deep in my belly,
deep in that instinctive primate place,
that HUMANS AREN’T MADE TO BE AIRBORNE
And I book the aisle seat.
But as I peek across the aisle
out of a braver someone else’s window
I see distant isles of deep lavender
awash in violent peach seas.
I watch the late day sun skip golden-pink across the tops of clouds,
tickling the fibrous frothy peaks of the cotton waves
as it flash-flash-flashes over them.
The blinding sun bleeds for me
Before collapsing into the deep purple sea
and I think
This isn’t so bad.