From my airplane window seat,
speedboats look like comets,
crumpled clouds are Kleenex,
and the city shines like silver jewelry.
Borders are the edges of a puzzle piece.
We could solve them easily;
too bad they’re out of reach.
The closest cloud lifts up its hand
to offer something indivisible.
For now above, we must be gods
to take to the sky with such ease.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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