buckwheat caterpillars tucked snuggly into cocoon barracks,
checkerboard cities, neatly compacted into grids.
Human design, carved into the natural landscape of dust and hazard.
Fingerling crevices etched into brown mountains
look like protozoan chicken feet.
Rivers and exploited dams might as well be kiddie pools,
from my celestial perch.
My forehead is pressed against the quadruple layer glass,
slitting my bangs into two chunks,
leaving my skin exposed to the translucent cold.
I want to call out to the woman who's wearing Velcro shoes, leering over a thousand page document. LOOK LOOK LOOK OUT YOUR PORTHOLE!
Now is the only time we get to be avian counterfeiters, more than human, less than observer.
"You must not get out much," she'd say with a slicing gaze.