here add the color name,
light dots connect into a city, grains of sand
into the airport's color code. there is a level,
a floor on which a teen has placed two candles
to direct the air traffic. and tonight he succeeds:
obedient air grows into a column to support
the wings, so that they sing, they sing "aliyah,"
as the plane disappears. because there are no countries
to which you can ascend. this word had dived too deep
into the earth, fed on its white, fat fishes.
now it is casting nets, for the guard shakes his head
like a buoy. when he snoozes, he's seeing one-way
air corridors - the planes hanging mid-air
as votive offerings, the golden nails of rockets
driven into the dome, where one can construct
the firmaments at will, while below them a
(here add the color name, the adjective)
heart contracts, unclenches, trembles, moves.