4-5 Without The Wind To Remind Me

the mind is quiet,
at thirty four thousand feet,
the week is gone,
below me,
past the clouds,
flat, horizon less,
I am somewhere,
down there drowning,
in a blue sound proof,
screaming ocean,
the heat of a few days,
gentle on my shoulder,
casts off blossoms,
from a plumeria tree,
for someone else
who needs a shadow,
I don't need him anymore,
not up here, not where,
the compressed air,
pushes in on me, around me,
down on me,
holding me,
in its anxiety driven,
state of not being,
without the wind to remind me,
I am movement,
I hold my breath,
waiting,
counting,
one, two,
three, four,
five, six,
seven, eight,
nine,
I am,
held.