Dia Pason Symphonia

Dia Pason Symphonia

I thumbed through the pages; avoided the end.

The volume was thin, maybe

I’d finish it in a flight

with my feet nowhere near the earth but moving fast through clouds with the smooth stretch higher than I could survive

beyond a day, or remain piercing the thin air, the stable font consistent tooth of the pale paper. My light labor, this story

or chapter’s release:

pages and pages ascent and return,

more than half way through

I read again the beginning to understand these parts:

Those early details know the way and only now do they stand out.

All the time they were giving the entire dream

in a blink

The earth draws closer — it was all real — even the flight, word after word after word.