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“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.” — Laura Chouette
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.