Almost noon in the middle of the night where time has never been
Ripples sneak across the surface without moving in space that never was
Light bends its waves in a continuum that will never be.
I’m flying a Piper Cub; the airstrip runs between the uprights.
No matter how steep I climb, no matter how high I fly, the power lines keep me hemmed in, they restrict my course.
Even at the edge of space it seems; they’re always in the frame, obstructing my photo, ruining artistic opportunities.
There’s no room to reverse course. Flying a Piper Cub at the edge of space makes breathing difficult. I begin to fall…panic…awake.