POETRY

Excerpt from Unknown

The pilot said to me, “forget these fairy tales
and wistfully work pasts over snowed trails
put wings on your blades and cut through the glades
lick past the luster and pretend you will save
a dram, an ounce, a gram
metric, English, or foreign.
find a unit unique to you
as much as you have,” she said,
“and that is your fuel,
abstract you’ll not know
till the dodo agrees
no matter the speed,
there are forces of stopping.”