Above the clouds, everything is an optical illusion.

It’s a question of faith
that the airplane I’m sitting in is moving at 400 miles per hour
than a horse carriage
and that another plane is not suspended in stillness
above the horizon at the end
of a tail of smoke
but is moving just as fast
without passing anything I can use as a background.

I’m not designed for great spaces.
I’m not mutated enough for these sights.

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