seven fifty seven and change

flame
tightly coiled bound and kept
and treasured inside where it truly matters
to breathe and softly featherdust
its bright orange sussurating cilia
across the planar grey aerodynes
of the hearts
of the beast
which is closer now.
Hear it? Hear it? I can...I can psi its presence almost
an ethereal solidity of portentious quicksilver
shot with grey and white.
Its dappled skin and dopplered song of wailing lust and need
the shrieking I hear two parts in my soul.
One part, no more, surely, to batter against the portals of my ears
to pour itself sibliciously shakily, a smeary spear of ballooning anguish
and there is a leap! of faith and fire
there, there's blue and grey beneath now, past and under.
A moment suspended, dichotomized in a steady-state hemicorporectomy
'twixt ours and its
looking up, now, somehow, featureless eyes turn to home
and then it's past, graceful as a whale and foolish as a wolf and here
for an instant too close and hot and breathy to be real!
SCREAM in flushed bath of the KINESIS of it, to be a part, ah, if only for
a nonexistent nanosecond, a chronon of the slip of space, to feel it
not to see it
as the brief glissando roar of the turbines is overlaid
justly
with the basso wail of the fans for just a moment
and then
there's only clouds and
a
flat
piece
of
ground
below the sky.