Paper Planes

Sometimes it feels as if the world is
turning in on itself, and that I too
am curling up, folding away, and

learning how to fly.
For we were all born
from the insides of stars,

spouting words and colourforms
and every shade of moth-backed night imaginable.
Even me and my stitches.

And to stardust we’ll return.

Maybe I’ll fade through this filtered sunlight,
back to me at five,
discovering the world underwater:

the sun split and scattered across the surface;
the mouths puckered, full of streams; the skin
that flickered and wavered like a mirage

that was not your own. Floating:
that feeling of weightless freedom.
And maybe -

dustclouds opening across my eyes -
I'll be able to come up for air
once more.

* * *

Another poem. I keep getting random urges to write poetry at the moment, so I'm trying to use this opportunity to work at it. This went through a lot of transformations before it got to this state. I didn't really have much idea where I was going with this one!

Less Plath this time: I hope that means there's more of 'me' in this one.

As always, comments and critique are more than welcome.

And of course: Happy Holidays everyone!!