Molly Schaeffer

the sky a          black compact chewed   so as to     dirty the wonder of place

those             few, exposed,     lavender afternoons   see       "skies of other planets"   some were always mentally preparing                        it began by   being closed in a field

a hoax of near-euphoria mingled with what     one might deem            "the time of our lives       felt like a thought" a            struggle not to    pull field pieces from   the surrounding             bales of land "we were     inside a      vast orifice like a swelling a                chattering of   birds in intervals"

the flying was sudden, uncomfortable            we were framed in the mass of   space   ourselves forward,   propelled only    slightly above the field            "trust my body over       what I my body do             I was having to succumb" a             notion            of weather manipulated                        occasionally the     sky    tented to formations  

before we realized how much             whipping we set into the air             briefly             everything was talking, massive, sifting as            "at this point it had become late and    had produced an   uncertain point in our shirts             broke fiercely down upon us     but I             wasn’t forced to join them"

the way home was            much dark and careful work