take-off from tokyo


listening to frank sing

white ferrari

drinking jasmine tea,


the ocean expands beneath me—

more blue than i’ve ever seen—

catches the light in my eyes,

turns them to soul-deep wellsprings

and my eyes—glistening—

surprise-blink feelings out of them,

streaming liquid gratitude

a tear

for existence

a tear

for the mystery of it

a tear

for the way i lack importance—

a weight lifted, perspective given

a “stick your head-in-the-clouds” prescription

we. are. so. insignificant. from up here

a tear

a truth:

i matter so much to a few of

those tiny specks on the ground

who likely aren’t thinking of me at this 4am hour

(but maybe dreaming)

30,000 feet below

where one touch of the hand is enough

to make your world explode

back into the stardust we’re made of

and so it’s here—

forehead smushed against the window of seat J, aisle 54—

that i think-whisper a new promise to myself:

carry your life with a lightness,

but give it permission

to fly