Closer to the heavens,
the heart soaring through the clouds,
timid feet creeping to the edge,
afraid of the fall.
Brooding monoliths,
pacified by little brooks,
giant trees memorialized in driftwood.
The city celebrates its ugly spectacle,
affords me my escape.
Few day to go,
the heart yearns.

You are but slivers of time
In these slivers are slivers that are mine.
Pull me out
You will not be you.
But then how would you know
until you try to go.