Sky deep blue, sun very bright, sand all gone
____
1927, fearlessly aloft, as bankers had not yet leapt from their office windows
In-between wars
Not a guinea pig.
Not a newsreel, yet, before black and white distractions and piano by the auto roll.
Grayman, not icarus
Not tempting fate like his father. Resigned to supercede
Limit.
My mom, on the phone, babbling about sand like a 12 pound dead baby. An antenna? Broken.
Misunderstood, in time.
Note the details,
Heading out, heading in. Departing, arriving. There's poetry.
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