The earth was late to meet the sky.
A plush case covered in feathers containing a magnifying glass.
Sure, my sight isn’t too standard, but I’d like you out of it altogether.
Up there, all airy, not a care in the world; entitled to act above everyone.
Myself, grounded by definition; a gift glued with reminders of immobility.
They’re for the birds. I’d be flightless at best. Ostriches and penguins.
Or a canary in a cage. Constantly at odds with the cats and dogs. Raining.
Flooding my mind. Your drops do me well. Nourish my life. But I cannot-
keep up, continue. We had a meeting place picked. The horizon line.
But I refuse to be on time. Even an hour tardy, you’d yet to arrive. Why?