Jeffrey Hull
Friday, May 11, 2007
Aloft
Above, a playful ocean
Mocks cumuli below–
In busy shuttling motion
The trails weave to and fro;
My eye hangs high suspended
Beneath a thread of air,
To view the world upended
As from an angel's chair.
How like the air's frail shimmer
Is time: how soon the past
Retreats; now fading dimmer,
It slips beyond my grasp.
© 2007 Jeffrey Hull