My Little Airport

Gently,

I leave a small airplane

on your chest.

You guide it across the light of raw iron,

the light of lake surface,

and sunlight,

Witnessing poplar tree roots praying to the night sky,

Seeing harbors upside down,

Witnessing liquefied sea green,

Yet not reaching the fifth year of our lives.

I and the wind share a smoke,

as it carves my body like a blade,

piece by piece.