The darkened room harbors concentric circles
on the hangar's peaked roof,
haloed light circumnavigates
the flying machine's crown.
Bulk metal rectangles pounded
into submission, the blacksmith's sweat
splattered on its walls with each drop
of his hammer, the reverberation echoes still.
Molten angles come together
as conjoined twins in blue fire
still fresh in the welder's eyes,
retinas burning with possibility.
Our shoes clink loudly
as we enter the arched rod canopy,
ancient poles for poisson, hugging
the air and rooted in metal.
The framework holds us all
fast to the dream. We take flight
in quiet overhead breezes
and the hum of shared imaginations.
Aleathia Drehmer 2009
Published by Munyori Poetry Journal 7/09