Outside
the wild sky smears us
when we look up—
always curious.
The birds are flying.
The clouds
and stars
fly.

On TV a rocket blooms
and people thrust themselves free
of the planet’s atmosphere.
In space astronauts
are earthed
in a cage of air.

Because we all walk on dirt together,
biology constrains our space.
Here on dirt we live.
Here I breathe and rise
from the dusty ground.
I rattle my windows.
I clutch a brilliant red parachute
filled with adrenaline
and leap—

The sky soars.
The flat horizon soars.
I fly until this precious freedom
disappears into the wind.
I gaze at the black moment
where air meets space
and I fall
just as I realize
flight is not impossible.

© 2001 Christine Klocek-Lim

different point of view. . .

That day for lunch they gathered outside,
held pinhole cameras instead of deli sandwiches
while the moon swallowed the sun halfway.
Even the street drummers were silent
as the eclipse dimmed herald square:
bigger than the empire state building,
bigger than broadway
where the people stood silent in the eerie light.
Any other day they’d be racing streetlights and taxis
while the drummers beat crazy percussion on plastic buckets;
while the placid sun dozed in a smoggy sky.
Few of them realized we are all human together
until our star waned into a fragile crescent
burning a miniature sign at our feet.

© 2001 Christine Klocek-Lim
first published in “Mi Poesias,” 2001 Cities Issue, Volume 6

It’s said that dreams inspire you—
and when you wake,
breath caught with joy,
you know it’s true
though you thought you were done with spring,
the long meander
through tall trees and waving grass.

© 2004 Christine Klocek-Lim
first published in “the Aurorean,” March 2005, Volume 10, Issue 2