Friday, 20 February 2015

Islands in the Sky.

Islands in the sky,

entire microcosms,

humans on another plane;

not just pilots getting high.


Islands in the clouds.

Ice-glazed profiles

peeking through shrouds.


Above the sheepskin rug

of eternal icecap

we drift above a cotton wool map.


On a clear night

I become a space-age kite.


I look down on your cities

where locks on bridges

and a myriad of flicked-on switches

make light of the facts…

One day you might

want to fish the key out.


My Pa,

crossing black skies like ours

year after year

over tens of thousands of hours.


My Ma,

At home, with us or alone

preparing for the next time he’s due home.


My brothers,

2 in total

one grounded and content

another shares my view of stars

3 time-zones earlier,

over a different continent.


I look down from my thoughts and find


sexy, blue and uncouth;

what a great place to have wasted my youth.


Fellow islander,


May the fallen angel

of heightened danger

watch over you

as you fly past;

looking up from

his tomb

with a jealous eye.

Copyright © Francisco Rebollo 2015

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