Pulling Closed

Pulling Closed
by Buck Wyndham

Dedicated to those who know what it means.

* * * * * * * * *

Flash-Flash. Flash.
Crystalline strobes of reflected sunlight pierce the clear air
Bounced from frozen ponds and ice-covered marshland,
Unseen from any angle except ours

We rise fast, without effort, tilted as far as mathematics allows
One wing toward the bright sun
The other at farms and fields and woods,
And a man shoveling snow from his driveway

Higher in seconds than any other conveyance except dreams
Could provide

We know what is coming.
Our horizon will expand to reach the edges of world
And details of river and city and roads will begin to blur
Into a great continuity of life and fractal patterns.
Attachment to detail will fade
And attraction to the whole will grow stronger.

But right now, in this place that few ever see
In this in-between place of low and fast and rising,
We enjoy the seconds of bliss
And observe with fascination the details of the
Receding quilt of life below.