(Theme: travel)
I awake somewhere over the
Atlantic Ocean awash in blue. Someone has taken glaze and made bold, seamless
strokes until the sea very well could be the sky or maybe we are flying upside
down? The rest of the plane sleeps around me and shafts of bright, salt
daylight knife the simulated darkness of the cabin.
#
I resist sleep with the sounds of gulls around me, the sea is a sound not a color, a churning, roiling sigh through the thrum of the ferry engines and the sky is muffling felt, a hand clamped down on a tin hiding fireflies or frogs, and the land great hulking skulking spines between them. And nothing but the bite of the wind. Nothing but one pale light, circling, lancing out at us from across the water.
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