With a roar, we rise sharply, 
secured in silver skin.
Houses fall away
become geometry.

I feel the curve of earth,
the pull of water. I am
a satellite,
tiny echo of a washed-out moon.

Clouds project
fractal shadows across 
a moving landscape.  Straight lines waver,
retreat.

We skirt the edge of uncertainty,
follow its boundary;
pretend to resolve
random patterns into maps.