My Little Plane
Toby Olson

1

 

Perhaps the air will let

my little plane down

to sink into that imprint

on the land in the lens's watermark

finally upon paper

    which is a map impossible

of that size for understanding like

me and my mom like it was awesome

in a language inadequate

        unto the darklight

and the warning light at the door

developing what can never be approached

in the shadow

under the shadow.

 

 

 

2

 

I saw a woman hidden in a lava

declivity

    my little plane's shadow

at the periphery near a bowl

of water stagnant in blue absence

        of past activity or perhaps

it was a man impossible to be certain

in a language inadequate

from this altitude

    was missing or lost love

that unspecified yearning

developing what can never be approached

as I was working my way

back to you.

 

 

 

3

 

Adventure of the shadow of my little plane

fixed on film and in the memory

    of a hovering over sea

though it was land looking like waves

from this altitude

and higher still were daystars

also invisible in

        that unspecified yearning

for a past deeper in some other anatomy

that I might be touching

though only through shadows

of myself behind uncertain lenses

    in this constant droning

of the engine like the world's turnings.

 

 

 

4

 

So then was traveling through smoke

above such archeology

        which is a plundering

like me and my mom

    like it was awesome figures

from a past inadequate

in this constant droning

of a language

that I might be touching

you on the earth bound up

in complexity ancient as memory

    of a time fashioned from childhood

when we stepped fresh from the cockpit

at least it seemed that way.

 

 

 

5

 

Ice threatens before fire

    under the warming

of my little plane's shadow

and hearth light aglow there beckoning

you on the earth bound up

        in such glacial imagination

could freeze into a fixture

to then percolate

in this heated nostalgia

at least it seemed that way

high up as I was

thinking to fall

    down into animal memory

inhuman and finally alone.

 

 

 

6

 

Two thousand over big island skylight

thinking to fall

    as much wish as a dream

of my little plane casket descending

into the orange eye

        to then percolate

in the blue field

which is night's hoard and endless

like it was awesome like

    a gestural language without

me and my mom like turning

into a past absent

of all memory sufficient

unto nostalgia.

 

 

 

7

 

Like it was awesome like

a valley smoking its own anatomy

    under which another surface

of a kind of skin

peeled back and revealing

        yet another no longer

a mystery but a shadow

under a shadow

of all memory sufficient

    unto the task forgotten

as I was drifting in the realization

that the lense too is a false framing

the world's turnings myopic

in the watermark stain of my little plane.

 

 

 

8

 

Like me and my mom like were waliing

through a desert and came into

    a mystery but a shadow

to cool us as we looked up finding

the little plane casting a watermark

down upon us who were trying

        hard to give vent to our

broken relationship in this wilderness

unto the task forgotten

    as I imagined myself in the plane

my shadow a stain to provide like an awning

to give her some comfort

correct for a son or a daughter yet I

in another story entirely.

 

 

 

9

 

We were looking out to a far horizon

like me and my mom were like inside

    in another story entirely

a Rothko painting of the earth's hues

in changing greens and the sky's blues

over Brittany coming

        down upon us who were trying

to right our relationship in the cockpit

of my little plane

which of itself was fragility drifting

    almost invisible in a soup

like Rothko's paint like me and my mom

the whole sky was an awesome home

and we were at comfort in it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

10

 

Under the shadow of lava in the lens

perhaps a father awaits me as a lover

almost invisible in a soup

    crowded with images existent only

in this sentimental and foolish eye

but to each his own

        and the earth is beautiful if violent

and can be like me and my mom

like I can be a baby girl or boy again

and wouldn't that be awesome

    but like very painful

and I brought my eye back to the cockpit

only to find I was there and here

which of itself was fragility drifting.

 

 

 

11

 

Imagine the water a shadow figure

in this sentimental and foolish eye

    the land a face seen from a satellite

youth the green beyond the ancient cuts

like plastic surgery

        to bring youth back

and wouldn't that be awesome

though having suffered for the gain

supposing violence

    of time could be forestalled

before the figure under the shadow

becomes finally fixed

and the sea no more than a blue wash

spied in the lense.

 

 

12

 

The human past is dead

    though this earth rise up violent

and beautiful red in the lense

to bring youth back

        like me and my mom

before the figure under the shadow

is revealed

    as a surface of blue only

to be peeled back revealing another

surface on which we can't be stable

    though continue the drift

in the lense of imagination

and if it be still of the human past

let it.

 

 

 

13

 

On the way always as a returning

    as a surface of blue only

in the distance becomes water

beyond parching

        as life giving

sustenance of the destination

is revealed

though only for this brief pausing

    and not for satiation

which is temporary

respite in the journey

        like me and my mom

like awesomely back there

at the beginning.

 

 

14

 

Finally upon paper

of past activity or perhaps

    fixed on film and in the memory

above such archeology

        in this heated nostalgia

which is night's hoard and endless

under which another surface

the little plane casting a watermark

    like me and my mom were like inside

but like very painful

though having suffered for the gain

to be peeled back revealing another

as life giving

on the way always as a returning.