i am the one
who rides the sun,
and the beasts that crawl
will pay their awe
as they reach up to the sky,
and shatter their woven lie.

be the clouds an ocean?
or be it forever in motion
too subtle to our mere sense,
too vast as the heaven’s immense?

be the aero planes whales?
or be it powerless fish so pale
in presence of thy furious anger,
in absence of rebellious antler?

and be the stratosphere stranded lands?
or be it sheltered in civilized hands
to have crafted such greatness,
to have planted such humbleness?

i am the one
who rides the sun,
from Stratford-upon-Avon
to Valhalla-upon-clouds.
and i can see,
as the clouds unveiled its glacé,
the bridge to where all ends in silence.
i was the one
who rode the sun,
and the woolen glacier shall be my grave.