Not plumes. Not plumes from the teapot’s throat. But force, unseen, the space
So what if he was old enough to slough her off? The night of her news he made an exception—
Sleep, shelter me. Shuffle me back into the deck where I belong—
Blue fluid in my limbs,momentum buoys me upat takeoff speed
Half his life he parachutedfrom open cockpits in swamp fog,and the other madly scouted