6am flight
orange yellow thread roadsspider lines from township
to township
as viewed before disappearing
into impossibly hanging water,
then emerging again.
people below framing pictures
evaluating shapes made by clouds
must now include my shape
in their montage.
and now i am distant,
closer by the minute
to orbiting dirt, sea,
and shifting sand where
everyone who has ever existed
has existed.
I am flying to meet the sun on his own terms.
roaring toward every red and yellow ever painted
the atlantic is giving birth to our benefactor.
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