rising
either there are no angels
or we are all of us angels, rising
by degree. when I left you,
you were supported by pillows
billowing like clouds. now,
sitting on the plane
watching rain glaze the runway,
I wonder if you’re awake, your eyes
searching for familiar faces
you can no longer see; I wonder
if I will ever see you again.
gathering speed, we begin to climb,
both of us passengers, rising
alone, separately, together,
rising
on differently feathered wings,
rising
into radically different heavens.
© 2020 jafink/oldbonesnewsnow.com
Great post 😁