Cabin Crew Disarm Doors
// Walk down the plane aisle and touch everyone you
know as if they were loved furniture.
Worried about how detailed a hand can look this low in outer space.
Food rolls down the same aisle,
At a service for all the flightless birds.
Even the clouds shave themselves, halved through precipitation.
A view of reversed clarity,
twice
folded
with lenses to magnify.
Familiar swan – untamable creature
of river-land and pond-sea:
Standing at one end of the aisle holding steady,
face vacant of sentimentality,
like a boxer between bells.
Parachuting down her spine and thinking of crashing.
Waiting for impact.
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Sinking into the placid love of the horizon.
The sun makes two sides of the world:
One a flapping swan
The other a Celtic love song. //