my preference

is to sit on the leading edge

of my flying carpet

feet dangling, just a habit

that began when i first began riding as a kid

there is something about wind in my face

that i've always loved

when it wasn't the magic carpet 

high above the 'scape

it was the motorcycle upon the 'scape

i've given up the motorcycle

a-feared of a scrape

rediscovering the joy of flying high

the looking down

the high vantage among sheepish clouds

just me and my magic carpet

knotted thread and jute-backing

colors of sunset on a winter's day

riding the thermals above earthly woes

feet dangling, wind in my hair

cold air bringing happy tears to my eyes