I arrived by air, by the light
                    of a million stars.

                                        – Quinton Duval (“The Aviator”)

Outside the day begins with dependable shoes,
a mental checklist wider now with lower heel
to meet uneven ground—each day another chance

to see a world surviving with damn few
humans in it. Perhaps a reverie at work, yet
unfurling, with so many eyes to see through.

‘Make it rich,’ Hal Spear said, early-on, each
moment open and elastic to fill the emptiness,
to jettison useless cargo. It works like a dream.

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