white finger stretching south
beyond the headland
scratching open the sky
I rigidly follow the pilot
curled tight in a too small seat
the aircraft casting a fleeting mark
a dark crucifix on the rising sea
a pulse passing through the Channel
heaven howling echoes
in the chambers of my heart
I know not where I am going
nor why I am gone
~
CLP 12/06/2021
Voyage des Mots 
Love this one my friend 👍🖤
Dear YLC, Thank you. Digging in some painful seams atm. 🙏
I guessed so.
And most likely why they resonate with me 🖤🖤
🙏