Alberto Santos Dumont

invented the airplane

on a hot summer

afternoon,

about ten to two.

Mid air, swaying

like a paper kite,

he felt warmer

than always,

and a nerve twitched

on his eyelid.

He felt, he saw

ceramics glistening

from a cafe` window

in Paris, far away

like enameled clouds.

Floating above trees

he imagined stars

to be luminous fish,

swimming

above the clouds,

then perhaps, fish

to be stars fallen

among the waves.

With an eye on Cartier’s

time beating on his wrist

Santos Dumont

descended, gently.

He spoke nothing.

He wanted a steaming

cup of coffee.

He had clocked

twenty three moments

floating,

closer to the sun

and the gods.

2006

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