I fly through clouds dense, fluffy
below our cities splayed
little houses in neat rows
gridded grass, parking lots
why is no one else watching?
pressing my forehead against the glass
I breathe deep, stale breaths
no longer able to distinguish the stench
that greeted my entrance to this capsule, cold
tired, I ask for a pillow
but they don’t give them out anymore
clouds in tufts, rivets, mountains, hills
sky pastel pink, orange, yellow, blue
what would it have been to be alive
when they were building highways?