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Flying
From this height he sees no people,
only large patches of green
and sand spangled rivers
meandering through occasional cities.
It's hard to tell where he is--
so remote from the turmoil of toiling things
a picture-postcard, perfectly still
suddenly crumpled by the hills.
That's when he once again remembers
what a fine woman she really is
but he worries what he'll be
when he's grounded again--
the god he now feels he is,
the man he finds it hard to be
or just another beast
whose every word or gesture kills.
