To Israel – Seat 37F
Brainlike. Phrenology, topography.
I am above the undulating coral surface of the alps.
Mist, an exhalation on a winter’s day, blankets a scattering of diamonds.
Opalescent river veins cut through the peaks and troughs,
Lit from within, as a city sparkles in the deepest night, but brighter
More precious than a precious gem.
The land moving below, soft and smooth as low and languorous as whale song.
We move through the heavens, I see snow cracked like dry icing,
ready to pick off and taste, sugar sweet and crisp.
And there, thickly whipped. Plunge a fingertip and scoop out the soft meringue.
It decays. Drier now, sharply aged.
Their undulating ridges are worn, wrinkled laugh lines on the earths surface
some are pure white like the whiskers on a dogs muzzle.
Then white, more white, billowing petticoats hiding my view,
Coy clouds part briefly to give a window into the dark mysteries below.
Suddenly an interloper. Look there, a shooting star with precious cargo.
It’s footprint trail leaves a bleached scar on the blue. I was here. Now I am gone.
We pass like strangers on a city street.
The white.
