And then I looked up
out through the window
out to the glowing blur
and I realised, finally, where we were.
No sharp cliffs or distant waterfalls,
or turquoise lakes or lonely trees.
No rolling green of ups and downs
that raw reluctance to touch the ground
so furiously speeding by
morphing, twisting into cloudy sky.
And so I looked up.
I thought of where we both should be.
Not holding tight and quietly
as if we like it here.
As if we’re proving that we like it here.
As if letting go will bring the rain and thunder and icy breeze
in through that window, shut tight.
As if it wasn’t all just waiting till we stepped outside.