radiate

sun wing 2

the longer you stay away,

the harder it is to return.

 

six degrees of separation

become six millenniums.

 

you take the long way home—

kicking up sun dust,

 

rust on your wheels, the

spindle of your spine

 

still turning to look back,

to keep weaving. your solar

 

plexus is on a slow-burn, couched

between your procured wings;

 

every thing is buzzing

on auto pilot

 

as you bring your ship in

through the streaks of dusk:

 

as you follow the yellow slick string

tying together this runway to infinity.

 

the leaving and the coming back is

a call and response you cannot

 

refuse—like falling on a cusped bruise:

you feel your flight from the inside out,

 

sitting cross-legged in your own sky, playing

pick-up-sticks with the long tender lines of light.

sun wing 1
 
 

Photographs by Joe Occhuzzio

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what if

what if we could jet

back in time

 

on the backs of these

jet-black birds,

 

which are really just

sharp memories with

 

wings and really

fast maneuverings —

 

the trick being the

getting in and out

 

before getting caught;

before forgetting how

 

we ever thought

we could return.

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