by Elan Justice

I rode a plane into the sky
so I could be away from here.
A clouded membrane, far too high
penetrated without fear. 

And as I gazed on grey below,
coils rippling beneath the plane,
the shuttering of consciousness
upon recognizing Her very brain.

All those clouds, all that grey matter,
concentrated humidity—
but if I am not immersed in Her
does She still remember me?

Entities that are not present
cannot be lost so tragically,
or evaporate
apathetically.
We are all
rivers and rain,
precipitating
magically.