You know by the hum of your seat you're still in the air.
A girl's doll stares blindly up from a black carry-on, the girl
asleep against her window, outside which death ignores you
both in limitless space, frilly cloud. Look—it's empty out there
as you sit with your icy drink, wings shadowing whatever passes
beneath. The last thing you remember is the bed of tulips
as you hustled down the concrete path outside your home.
You had no reason to look back, no face to find in the glass,
but because the wind was blowing, the flowers appeared to shake
their heads no, no to you. They live their whole lives as if in earth-
quake. Imagine—an existence moved by invisible, immutable
force this way then that, and no choice but to go with it.
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