Airplanes

Nolan Long

When I drive out to the airport I’ll sit down on the apron And watch planes break through the clouds. I’ll count down with each and every one Until I see yours emerge in the distance.

I’ll fall into a long and euphoric sleep When that Dreamliner comes into view.

I’ll wonder what you’re seeing and What you’re thinking

As the city grows beneath youThe sky falling behind you.

And as the plane falls closer to me, It’ll remind me of when I flew to you last Spring. Breaking through the purple sky.

For once, you won’t be in the distance. Though now you’re on the horizon, Then you’ll be in my arms.

Discernment

Graham Wall

Two quiet balsam trees rest in contradiction. Chlorotic and bright, the colours create friction —especially the leaves. The qualia of sight laughs at prediction.

Light speaks Greek, and dark, Hebrew— the language of chimes. But before I knew, the sound was not meek, for the crow had climbed; her judgment would imbue.

* Previously published on the author’s blog.