Night flight to San Francisco. Chase the moon across America
God it’s been years since I was on a plane
When we hit thirty-five thousand feet. We’ll have reached the tropopause
The great belt of calm air. As close as I’ll ever get to the ozone.
I dreamed we were there. The plane leap the tropopause, the safe air
And attained the outer rim, the ozone, which was ragged and torn
Patches of it threadbare as old cheesecloth. And that was frightening
But I saw something only I could see.because of my astonishing ability to see such things
Souls were rising, from the earth far below, souls of the dead
Of people who had perished from famine, from war, from the plague.
And they floated up, like skydivers in reverse, limbs all akimbo, wheeling and spinning
And these departed souls joined hands. Clasped ankles. And formed a web
a great net of souls. And the souls were three-atom oxygen molecules. Of the stuff of ozone.
And the outer rim absorbed them. And was repaired.
Nothing is lost forever. In this world, there is a kind of painful progress.
Longing for what we’ve left behind, and dreaming ahead
At leat I think that’s so
完结
