I don’t make airplanes

I don't make airplanes
because I like to find quality
under a pile of quantity
the needles sort themselves
into haystacks
by the volume 

Decibells on my shoes
to tell the bears I'm coming
and turn at an awkward angle
such that you and I don't see 
either eye
 
But that's what a map is for
to get where that plane would have gone

It's a pile of dandelion dust
a few seeds
and a little hope 
that a bit of soil
and water
will start the stalk
and yellow cycle

And perhaps land on the canvas
of a great, loved artist
so that we can be remembered

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