Press

 Press

johnClare Stokes

Canvas planes

Are fragile things

Paper wings

Carrying

Aloft in light

 the

Soaring friend

Upper currents

Lifting

We could not

Ground the

Little plane

Of fragile wing

Fold and

Neatly Pressed 

Caressed below

The restless

Pilot

And off he did go

Confetti 

Remnants raining 

Parachute billows

Of dangled string

Gently descending

But no friend

to earthly Tarmac 

Did land

The paper plane

Of fragile wing

Flamed to realms

Where grace

Abounds

The silver cord

Unbroken drew

As we too

Longed to touch

Our paper planes

The same as

Did he

Pressing on

Toward 

Christ's 

Taboric light.