Window seat

I saw a lone bird

cut over

the striated cotton clouds.

I watch from my airplane seat,

pressed to the window

the dark yolk orange leans into yellow,

yellow forgets itself into light blue,

violet waits at the edges.

I look for green,

the place where things agree,

but it never shows up.

The bird kept going,

as night stampeded in

pulls its dark coat over with stars

dancing above the colours

Everything I'm afraid of

is still down there:

the smog,

my lungs struggle

I wonder if freedom has a taste,

or if it’s just movement

without questions.

That bird doesn't look back.

Flies like a solitary traveler,

recounting memories in motion,

tracing invisible steps on earth,

mapping every human it never met.

It flew

as if to see more of the world