The Undoing of Flight

On a bleak beach on the far side
of the leaden Atlantic

an ungainly contraption
assembled from canvas and metal struts

hops like a huge scrawny crow,
takes a desperate run

towards lowering clouds,
clumsily lifts off the ground,

plops back onto heavy wet sand,
runs, rises, dips, soars, and flies

a short length of the beach
to thin cheers from tiny black figures.

Against the swell of the decades
I want to swim that ocean

and heave great boulders
into the blind creature’s path.

Let it crash. Let their dream founder.
Maybe then you’d still be with me.


One response to “The Undoing of Flight

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