Under
An airplane, tiny, slips through the white clouds that turn and curl around themselves, vanish into the sun. I have to close my eyes because the sun is too bright. To open them is to see the slipping and falling away of the world. I wait for the sun to fall behind a cloud, the wind to cool my face.
When the sun returns, it sears orange behind my eyelids, all that holds me is this warmth. The clouds break apart, reattach with their own gravity like swirls of river water finding edges of current, swirls of sky streaked by blue and yellow and bright fragments where I place myself under again and again into this world.