Chasing The Sunset

Taking the plane from Denver to Portland
For over an hour at some godly highly thousands of feet up
we are chasing the sunset.
It appeared like the revealing of a long hidden dream
buried deep within my chest

except as I sit here and write
I say to myself
I don't have any dreams like that
and as soon as the words are thought I know them a lie
I do have one dream at least maybe more
to hold her hand and say I do
to hold her hand and hear it's a . . .
I don't know who she is
hell I don't even know who I am

and maybe that spot on my leg is a rotting cancer
they'll have to cut it off like they cut off my great uncles
his in a farming accident
mine caused by preserved food production
strangely similar circumstance
then who will love me with just one leg
the phantom limb a direct experience of something only psychically real
who will love me with no hair
with no job
with no dream
other than the one dreaming it

and then as the plane sinks
I get that same sinking feeling
like running into wall of water
of having your lungs filled with a lost cause
the sense that I will never find what I'm looking for
and knowing that I should be looking for an end to suffering
rather than a satisfaction of desires that are never sated

I know this and yet
my mind calls
maybe a raft guide
maybe a teacher
maybe a tour guide
maybe maybe maybe

a restless heart
a free spirit
imprisoned by its faradism
this old lure
love love love
has me always hooked
by flight from this to that
I pray I can find the strength
to just be still