a conundrum when you discover a craft so conflagrant bright that holds no answer as to why there's absence of light.
smoke-stained goggles, earhart canary in the carolina night.
and when she lifted off, it reassured my terminal fear of flight.
i never expected the slightest of turbulence.
set sail over the skies you mighty baron, and cast ripples to the west on bended knee.
in perfect smokescreen cursive, i look up to find these words so amorously scrawled along the cloudy shimmer tide: i know you can still hear me, even though you're not near me.
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