Economy Class

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Sailing high above the atmosphere.
I’m glancing through the portico:
It’s double-paned, as if to keep
Us from tainting the pristine

Surroundings. Islands of
Marshmallow-puff clouds estrange
Sections of the periwinkle ocean:
It never knows its own enormity.

The horizon is an Arctic landscape.
Solid, I could walk upon its
Snowy trails in isolation and
Without fear of falling.

It would be my home,
Embrace my battered body with
Outstretched arms and swaddling blankets;
Maybe you will be there, too.





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