Ice crawls, relents; raves and melts
applies itself from where the cold air clamps

Old as Earth, young as us
watching on as we sear through

Clunk—go my knees at the slip of a single vision—falling, prompted by noise from the engine and my fear of flying

With part of me wanting to plummet free
into a place white covers pull over parked mountains

Their days are not visible to us and so, invisibly spent, until this second when I dream of landing on Andorra’s doormat

The engine is not  okay, now I drag my sauntered mind and purge it for wanting to fall and the grief in life of feeling that


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