(with thanks to Jaco)
The four-year-old aims, then shoots a plane
out of the sky. As it explodes, he is both thrilled
and terrified by his power.
He tells no one.
The grown-up white-knuckles his way
through the airplane’s turbulence,
secretly harboring the four-year-old inside.
Thoughts of crashing are forcibly sequestered
in subterranean caverns, too far away
to work their grisly magic. But then he sees
the price he pays for being their jailer,
for allowing the four-year-old to go unchallenged.
Smiling, he repeats the words, like a mantra,
“Personally, I want a nice, smooth flight.”
His hands unclench, breathing releases,
his fears simply vanishing into the very thin air
at 35,000 feet.
Wise with years, the elder sits,
chuckling or grimacing, as the case may be,
at his thoughts and emotions.
He lets them all pass through him, unimpeded.
With nothing to ensnare him,
in love with life,
he soars free inside himself,
blue skies above.