From the edge of the cliff we see no horizon.
Earth, air, water merge, solid state
dissolves, breath condenses, dessicates;
we lick salt out of the sky.
I drive him to the airport.
Lumbering hulls filled with gear
and stuff; jet fuel, too fast, too high,
caught in time, never soon enough.
Once upon a time, fear of falling
over the edge kept us close to home.
Now we are unafraid even to fly,
although still to die.
We want too much. We want
to reach beyond the fall,
to find solid ground beneath us, the days
when earth bleeds into heaven
over the water 