those three years with you
this is not beneath you
towards the sky
There’s a watchful sky
just under the layers of wiring in my mind.
You’re always there,
where i tend my memory of you
like a fire
that I will never let burn out.
night over Texas
course corrections
in the sky and rising
morning flight
corner pieces
all this time
There are places still.
There are places still where the past doesn’t matter.
There are places still unaffected by those who came before. Their survival imparts no help for your own, where the father is no more informed than the son.
There are places which require knowing one’s self as if we were each simply scraping out an existence under the infinite sky rather than hiding pieces of ourselves in different pockets of place, time, and memories cataloged in metropolises of past tense verbs.
comb and brush
and there were the ones
spiraling in the artificial thermals
as if they’d found the source of the sky
Pioneer
