the sea rises above the mountains.
through the cabin glass, a strip of sky
narrows until the wingtip touches water.
i keep turning toward the light.
inside the sphere, a tree has filled
its shallow bed with roots.
they double back beneath the trunk;
one follows the glass above my head.
there is a hollow where your shoulder rested.
i set my hand there, then a little lower.
the bark is warm from the sun.
all night, a root presses at the seam.
i hold the glass together with both hands
and feel it moving under them.
a leaf has caught in the opening.
i try to ease it through
without making the crack any wider.