Beyond the Horizon
It was a slow plane anyway,
and it slowed down even more
to take the space-time curve of the universe.
From my cabin window: the glamorous earth,
the arteries of my city;
and the world beyond the horizon
has simply dropped away into the black.
I’m thinking, time to give this up,
and live in a house of words,
in the centre of a poem by Sylvia Plath,
or a fragment by Franz Kafka,
where I might stretch out my hand towards the stairwell,
as if a celestial solution awaited me.