Monday, February 15, 2010

Crossing

I emptied my pockets
to surrender all sharp
and flammable belongings
just before admitting
to have this fear of flying:
more particularly, of the fall.
Never mind the pain
from the fiery disaster
that might become of my trip.

I’ve only fallen in dreams
during restless sleep, and in them
I relied heavily on force fields
which knew of frailty and when
to stop such madness.

But my baggage is checked in,
and like so many passengers waiting
we take turns glancing outside
for planes landing, taking off,
to figure out which emerging heads
have arrived home or have come
only as visitors.

Then perhaps, I will doze my flight
away, while knowing all too well
that I will dread waking
from the same frightful sleep,
only to find it chance upon me—
no longer familiar
and wakeful to another side.

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