Fly low, fly high

In this small open car
I speed along the surface of our shared earth
while you fly high above.

In the atmospheric sky through endless dusk
you pursue the daylight to a far country.

Your vehicle is large, enclosed.
In that rarefied atmosphere
no sudden gusts of wind enter the cabin
to ruffle your hair.

The air you breathe,
carried up from the surface, is filtered, calm.

You feel no hint of motion,
only the steady drone of jet engines.

Down here at dusk, this small car plunges into the curves
like a live thing.

Wind lifts my hair from my neck,
whips it back against my face.

This ride is flight.