A wish...a dream, a real flight...

He sat still
Silent
For words of speech are more or less banal...
For words inside are always the real...
So,
One afternoon,
Catching the supreme benedictory glow
Of helios...
The undying,
Unchallenged,
Unchanged,
And dying still
Changing every minute
In minute detailed on sky,
He prayed...

And
Then
He thought he heard Phaedrus...
In conversation with Socrates...
A three hundred seventy
Before the birth
Of the babe ...

He thought he heard it right...
The winged soul
Of a soul
Narrating
The tests and redemption thing...
Trials and salvations...

Mise en abyme...
Followed by height...

He thought
He heard it all right...

And
The flight occured there
Right there in his eyes...
He saw the jet
Leaving off a trail bright
And also a cuckoo song emerged sweet...
Like a perfect lovely tweet...