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.

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