Distance provides insight;
to a tiny world normally unseen, draped
in ground level confusion.

From a cloud seat, the blanket
is transparent, perhaps opaque because
we know it is still there,
floating and flapping just above the surface.

Others lose themselves in multifaceted distraction;
I stare out the pill-shaped window, down below.

I glance around the cabin every so often,
with slowly filled, misty eyes,
to connect with someone that sees what I do, someone
grasping tightly to the other end of this thread.
The string just reaches out from me slithering in the recirculated air,
singular, undulating, and alone.

Sometimes I can tell kids get it, when they’re just
the right age, in between their loud rants: requests for juice or
another cracker – they see it, they feel it –
it’s visible in their reflected saucer-eyed astonishment,
like peering into the window of a darkened doll house.
Everything familiar but so small and placed just so,
bread and knife on the table, dishes in the sink,
rocking chair, and boots by the door.

When I’m up there, I wonder about people,
I ponder the flat-earthers and the anti-vaxxers.
I consider that perhaps they would make more sense
if viewed from aloft,
minute, miniature, and silent.