Амброз Бирс - Flight or Fright - 17 Turbulent Tales

The states when they black out and lie there rollingwhen they turn
To something transcontinentalmove bydrawing moonlight out of the great
One-sided stone hung off the starboard wingtipsome sleeper next to
An engine is groaning for coffeeand there is faintly coming in
Somewhere the vast beast-whistle of space. In the galley with its racks
Of traysshe rummages for a blanketand moves in her slim tailored
Uniform to pin it over the cry at the top of the door. As though she blew

The door down with a silent blast from her lungsfrozenshe is black
Out finding herselfwith the plane nowhere and her body taken by the throat
The undying cry of the voidfallinglivingbeginning to be something
That no one has ever been and lived throughscreaming without enough air
Still neatlipstickedstockingedgirdled by regulationher hat
Still onher arms and legs in no worldand yet spaced also strangely
With utter placid rightness on thin airtaking her timeshe holds it
In many placesand now, still thousands of feet from her death she seems
To slowshe develops interestshe turns in her maneuverable body

To watch it. She is hung high up in the overwhelming middle of things in her
Selfin low body-whistling wrapped intenselyin all her dark dance-weight
Coming down from a marvellous leapwith the delaying, dumfounding ease
Of a dream of being drawnlike endless moonlight to the harvest soil
Of a central state of one’s countrywith a great gradual warmth coming
Over herfloatingfinding more and more breath in what she has been using
For breathas the levels become more humanseeing clouds placed honestly
Below her left and rightriding slowly toward themshe clasps it all
To her and can hang her hands and feet in it in peculiar waysand
Her eyes opened wide by wind, can open her mouth as widewider and suck
All the heat from the cornfieldscan go down on her back with a feeling
Of stupendous pillows stacked under herand can turnturn as to someone
In bedsmile, understood in darknesscan go awayslantslide
Off tumblinginto the emblem of a bird with its wings half-spread
Or whirl madly on herselfin endless gymnastics in the growing warmth
Of wheatfields rising toward the harvest moon.There is time to live
In superhuman healthseeing mortal unreachable lights far down seeing
An ultimate highway with one late priceless car probing itarriving
In a square townand off her starboard arm the glitter of water catches
The moon by its one shaken sidescaled, roaming silverMy God it is good
And evillying in one after another of all the positions for love
Makingdancingsleepingand now cloud wisps at her no
Raincoatno matterall small towns brokenly brighter from inside
Cloudshe walks over them like rainbursts out to behold a Greyhound
Bus shooting light through its sidesit is the signal to go straight
Down like a glorious diverthen feet firsther skirt stripped beautifully
Upher face in fear-scented clothsher legs deliriously barethen
Arms outshe slow-rolls oversteadies outwaits for something great
To take control of hertrembles near feathersplanes head-down
The quick movements of bird-necks turning her headgold eyes the insight-
eyesight of owls blazing into the hencoopsa taste for chicken overwhelming
Herthe long-range vision of hawks enlarging all human lights of cars
Freight trainslooped bridgesenlarging the moon racing slowly
Through all the curves of a riverall the darks of the midwest blazing
From above. A rabbit in a bush turns whitethe smothering chickens
Huddlefor over them there is still time for something to live
With the streaming half-idea of a long stoopa hurtlinga fall
That is controlledthat plummets as it willsturns gravity
Into a new condition, showing its other side like a moonshining
New Powersthere is still time to live on a breath made of nothing
But the whole nighttime for her to remember to arrange her skirt
Like a diagram of a battightly it guides hershe has this flying-skin
Made of garmentsand there are also those sky-divers on tvsailing
In sunlightsmiling under their gogglesswapping batons back and forth
And He who jumped without a chute and was handed one by a diving
Buddy. She looks for her grinning companionwhite teethnowhere
She is screamingsinging hymnsher thin human wings spread out
From her neat shouldersthe air beast-crooning to herwarbling
And she can no longer behold the huge partial form of the worldnow
She is watching her country lose its evoked master shapewatching it lose
And gainget back its houses and peopleswatching it bring up
Its local lightssingle homeslamps on barn roofsif she fell
Into water she might livelike a divercleavingperfectplunge