Looking out my window, above a spider plant,
I see an aircraft white against a cold blue sky.
It slides across my field of vision, silent
as a dream barely recalled, then disappears
and leaves no trace of vapor. It seems
my life is passing just this way: each thing
I say or do, each one I know slips by.
I find I connect with very little.
Experience is a vision through a double pane of glass
of something faraway, of something that is gone
before it touches me. I break my heart attempting
to get closer, but the laws of space are not to be
denied. I end up curled on the bed at dusk.
And as I drift toward sleep, the visions fade
like aircraft disappearing in the night.