Flying

As we pulled up through the clouds,
it was evident that this was
my future: shrouded in mist.

We hid from the crowds, didn’t we, Sorrow,
And how? by attracting attention
to our clothes—that hid
our fractured tears away…

I took an eraser to my pen;
it would not go away—
it faded, but that is my memory
of you, Sorrow.

Weighted down and buoyant,
flying, falling, the Angels will not
save us—we are alone.

And there could not be a God,
for he did not say “hello.”
We fly above the clouds and I

believe I must be an Angel:
My tears showering those below.
I shatter somewhere:—I stay in the sky.