19 October 2025

By Philip Kuepper

The vast fuselage
is wrapped in sunlight,
Christ-like, and the sunlight
wrapped in blue sky.
The plane lies on a plane
of runway. It is positively
geometric. Each passenger sits
a triangle of mind, heart,
soul, the points always changing
depending on what is being
sensed at any given
minute. Lift-off:
Each moment of a life is lift-off.
We take flight into each
experience. Each experience
takes flight in us.
We wing it, life.
It isn’t planned by an omnipotent
being. We happen.
And life happens to us.
Flight? It is smooth. It isn’t
smooth. Turbulence
is a given. And the plane
is suddenly a toy of the elements,
caught in a game of atmospheric pressure.

(To a rower, a plane acts a shell,
its wings, oars,
used to row an ocean of air,
each stroke of the blades
slicing through air,
to move the whole
of one moment
into the next moment:
Momentum.)

Landing: It is paramount
to cut clean through
any wind shear that may be lurking,
like a mugger waiting,
present, yet invisible.
Arrival: Touchdown.
The elemental toy has scored.
And one departs arrival to arrive
at intended destination.

(5 October 2025)