“Pothole in the Sky My veins ground too deep to become a statue, And the flight is delayed too late— So I take off again. I take off without the vein of the city That lifts me to heaven with a million lights And a few streets in between. The darkness blooms like a desert, And in my aeroplane, I become a small flower, Travelling too far and without sight. Clouds outside windows become a stair frame, And the dark blue of mornings drifts by, While I dream of Paris and every thought That drifted by.”
Book:The Willow Song