Dirigibles

By Alexander Ross

Crisscrossed again, the golden, gloaming sky,
in the eye of my mind, by dirigibles,
knowing, in some grander timeline, still glide
those silent giants, indivisible

from flight, itself. What cunning of reason
once filled the wind with titans from Rio,
to Frankfurt, to Manhattan? What treason,
what envy, cast them down? From far below,

I chart their course—through hardships, to the stars.
Per aspera ad astra. Every myth
shall fill its form. And from the abattoirs
of history, a ship reforged will drift.

Ironclad orcas, shining in the sun,
halfway between what was and what’s to come.

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Alexander Ross is a guest contributor who has been featured in our writing competition books. Follow him for more here.