rainbow runway lights
like night-time phosphorescence
vanish far below

–or

fruiting bodies thrust
above white mycelium:
towers in the fog

–or

each cloud has a taste
they drift past in their thousands
like frozen honeyed milk

–or

the clouds are mountains
above the sweetwater sea
my eyes close softly

–and

each journey brings pain.
each flight is a little death,
drowning in sunsets