In miniature, a scale model made of tinfoil, cardboard,
The green water ocean is so smooth you could walk on it
Haloed by a ring of white foam, tiny islands poke out
of the sea
They’re so small none of them have a name
You could be the first to conquer them, call them your own
The wind is high, and clouds rush in
The plane rises higher
You leave the old world and enter one of pure sunlight
The only shadow is that of the plane on the clouds below
Sunset is fading fast
You chase it—
Everything ends in stars
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