circling in midair
waiting for clearance to land
trapped between sky and ground
without purchase
on either
while others above and below
continue on
to finish their journey
like the man
sentenced to having no country
always at sea
never touching the edges
of something
you want to call your own
we reach out each time
passing by, stretching
to just brush fingertips
never quite enough
to clasp hands,
to grab on,
to stay.
whimsy~mimsy 