Monday, December 15, 2014


Frannie Zellman


In those days before the flight
I dreamed the plane crashed 
because I weighed so much.

Yet when I finally boarded 
I felt wings.

I forgot weight, height, breadth,
time, day, month, year.

In sleep, radiance, now become aroma,
suffused what was once my body
and stole over the hidden stars
like the milky breath
of flowers.

On waking, dark.

Suddenly on one side
the plane exploded into sun.

And I, the flyer,
straddled the edge
of night and day

as if I'd been born
to stalk heaven.

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