Song to the Crying Jets

The trail left by an imaginary flight
flicked red switches overhanging
led by solitary bearings
calling me today
The lines stood still,
where it flew
then merging with the clouds
in an infinite pursuit
led in nautical fairings
gifts of the voiding skies
I can no longer see
dyes of moving parts
mechanized walkers
in a pasture of strampled
lands
Diving into the clouds
I can almost make out a
figure of me and fragments
of a whirring jet
The flaps are lowered
and elevations lifting past
loosely bounded then before
led by careless pitches
tempting me away
The after-effects of blasting
soundings in the air
left a momentary trace
then losing out to noises
in my head,
led by pounding fans
leeching me today
and dreaming of flying acts
never moving from where
they once stood,
beckoning me to the
cutting blades, swooshing
in the skies

So you must be leaving again,
leaving memories aside
and I didnt know
they were my own as well
memory-riders are tamed
only left, following forever
in time and space.

Copyright © 2002 The Light Island