the flying ship

I lay on my back next to Shrine.

Our heads rest six inches from each other
while our feet jut out in opposite directions toward the temple walls.

It’s mid-day, and we occupy the only strips of shade on the temple carpet.

Through goggles we stare


toward the top
of the temple.
The chandelier swings

playing a tune
on its many mobile
metal parts.

Now that the windows are down
the dust blows through
like wisps of cloud.

The temple is a passageway.

After several moments Shrine says:

You know
the way
the wind blows through

It’s almost as if we’re on a flying ship.

1 comment:

Jason said...