Part 1: Above a Town

I cannot tell the street
from rivers, streams, or brooks.
Highways are distinct.
Their surveyed lines
run from point to and fro,
but roads
are reminiscent
of long 'go trodden foot-paths
a foreign foot once tread.
They whined like rivers,
and cut sharp like fallen trees.

The steeple
tops the church
pointing upwards.
Through me,
sinners' penances
travel to the Lord;
I am unimportant.

In Flight

Propellers cut fast through the
ever increasing
always outpacing
clouds of human
corruption.

Thick white smog
rains down upon
civilians,
but passengers
in flight
are spared
least they glance
the real axis
on which the world rotates.

Fed on fear
of heights.

Fed on worries
higher than reach.

Fed from care:
caring too much
about pebbles in entirety.

Until we lift ourselves with curiosity
above the trap of life,
we cannot know why birds spend
more time in flight
than foraging on earth.
They don't want to eat
the garbage that humans cycle.

Celestial Dance

Cascades-
ember streaks-
meteor tails of reason
fade quickly.