We had a predilection for flying

At least this moment, for at least this moment
We had a predilection for flying,
Sitting far back in seats 146b or 175c
Next to the window, the back of the plane
And if sometimes, passing over the marble steps of the palace
or the hidden interior of our own secrecy or sometimes after barely clipping our abyss
Of reluctant assimilation to reveal the mournful solitude of our dreaming
We would wake again drunk with the wind and everything that was flying with us
Over this dense black mirror of ocean everything that was supposed to be guarding us and
Our practiced stumbling our flight out of the tunnel our reeling into
The blinding light that we surged past now as if we were unaware again
As if we had just thrown ourselves up into the air and reached our hands out to fly