In the Wee Hours

In the Wee Hours
29 january 2019
jp melville

In the wee hours a machine whines
moving snow from city streets.
Trucks wail by roaring ceaselessly
their little soldier missions.
Snow falls through lamplight cones
heedless of our industry.
High above I sail through the sky
my arms spread wide
face wet from snowflakes
'til I break through the clouds
where the stars shine.
My skin tingles.
My heart swells.
I roll over weightlessly
dissolving in eternity.