Fly in a Ship

I am working early and posting from my unpreferred device. The app changed the keyboard. And I am at the older person sucky lemon face stage where I am thoroughly putout by change. Meanwhile, yesterday my husband spilled tea onto his keyboard. So he has borrowed the keyboard from my preferred device. But I am a kind wife and am not disturbing his sleep by fumbling in the dark to unplug that keyboard. But you get the picture of my up-scuttled (a favourite descriptive of a late, lamented friend) morning routine.

Meanwhile, dawn is creeping on. Poetry practice in the notebook with the light- pen (light sabre?) has happened and I am impatiently wanting to get to the second phase. And what turned up in the notebook was pretty weird, a fragment of a lucid dream state?

Fly in a Ship


Deliberately choose

a different state.

Walk down to Room 5,

(the galley?)

its laughter, conviviality,

the camaraderie within.

Walk away, going the other way

along the narrow corridor-

no gangway this-

to find another space

than that outlined

in the silvery 3-D of dawn. 

Leave shoes at the door

before going within.

It’s a risk

going shoeless

over the portal

or through a porthole.

Who knows?

What bliss.

Copyright 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.

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