I am the wheels sticking slightly to a warm dark tarmac
I am the propellers hanging lazily waiting for a motivation to move
I am the engine roaring as king of a mechanical jungle
I am the seat that travels the world but sees none of it
I am the table hiding shyly like a chameleon
I am the waving wands, the stoplights of the beasts
I am the wings that never flap but always soar
I am the heart that rises against gravity
I am the wind that grabs and lifts with the strength of ten thousand men
I am the clouds that separate worlds
I am the sky that dances through stars and suns
I am the belt that knows the shape of countless bellies
I am the bin that hugs the carried on
I am the shudder of a machine suddenly afraid of heights
I am the peanuts that imagine they have the capacity for filling
I am the landing as precise as punctuation
I am a new place, a new people, a new time