we’re about to touch down on the tarmac
we dip slightly,
rise again into the glaring early morning sun.
the city dissolves.
a thick, jewel green forest carpets the hills
and mansions bloom out of the trees,
obscured only by the haze of panicked uncertainty.
this is some kind of fairy tale land and I am
imagining how it would feel to disappear as
metal and bone fold into its jewel green hills.
what does nothing feel like?
does it hurt?
but instead of an answer, the
plane dips again,
swings wide and heads back towards the sun,
the certain ache of living.