Do gods watch me soar
Through the sky like a ladder
Waiting be climbed; higher, higher
Relentlessly up and through
The uninterrupted blue,
Until I find myself in
Alone in the almost ozone
With only thoughts
And a body, mid-transplant,
Mumbling adopted, magnet sighs.
My passport ironic in my pocket;
Home-swapped, like a gameshow.
The plane trail propels me onwards
On a slick of cloudy railroad,
And I leave behind uncertainties
With a burst ceiling of clouds
Discarded, like clothes on a floor
And instead, watch the earth
Flower and roll below:
Alps mountains like towering mothers,
Clouds clinging like children,
The crumpled paper peaks of earth
Crashing around like a foaming tide.
But like an aluminium bubble
In a blue, full, pint glass of air,
Our plane continues rising, rising;
Floating up to the top
As though the sky is nothing
More than a liquid morning prayer.
Icarus-like, we continue
Towards the sun –
Even if there are no myths
In an abyss of modern age
And the magic is defunct,
Insulated to the awe, the world
Revolving, with a hummingbird buzz
We fly through epochs of gazed heavens,
Conquering miracles and puncturing the sky
Because now, we forge divinities ourselves
And then live them momentarily.