It isn’t the past

Upon which I stumble

It is the future


Dreamscapes far below

The airplane window

Of my soul


Traveling quickly

With altitude sickness

Not sure where to land



Waiting for Command

To tell me where to go


Turbulent escape

Parachuting down

Time to walk instead


Down dusty roads

Cracking dry

Under the heat of summer


I pass a burning field

A farmer destroying

The weeds that grow


Making room

For something new

To break through


On the ground

Is safer for me

And for my dreams


Sitting by the fire

Throwing things inside

No more room for them to hide


Lightening the load

Before taking to the road

A journey preparing


I can see you

Standing there

Fanning the flames


I can see you

Running around

Throwing water


I can see you

Laying there



I can see you

Running away

Wiping your tears


In the moment


It all turns to smoke


I will light my cigarette

Off the final



And turn to the horizon.

copyright Jill Szoo Wilson


(Photo credit: This poem was inspired by German artist Heiko Müller‘s piece, Arrival.


The soundtrack to this poem for me: