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.

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