Those days I spent on the roof of the car with cardboard wings

Danny running beside with the Super 8 yelling “Harder, harder, flap harder”

And me, sporting headband with red tendrils trailing, arms akimbo, and shouting with such conviction “Set the controls for the heart of the sun”.

…

 

And now I sit remembering the dream, the sun so close, the heat in my face.

 

But my arms ache, the wax has seeped into the joints, and I move like one stuck in molasses, sipping coffee with the boys, watching the young girls pass as they smile and think “In your dreams bud”.

 

And what of those dreams? Harder now to see where they end and the daylight begins.

Is that me, or was the edge always so vague?

 

On one side I sit nodding, thinking back and saying it was only a dream.

 

And on the other I am on that roof once more, wax dripping, feathers strapped to bone, waving frantic arms and calling:

 

The heart of the sun.

The heart of the sun.

The heart of the sun.