Invisible City

The sky bled into white clouds that opened into light. Come into me. A twister cut the sky in half further away forming.

The clouds were cut in half by the trail of a plane.

The dark encroached on the break in the sky—the opening where she fell through.

Nothing moved around her.

The city was in the sky.

Mountains above the oceans. How many shades of blue. And we are in the underworld.

She evaporates into the city, through the white. And there she is.

And the lightning shot holes in the clouds.

And blistered the sky. It was below her now.

And her city shifted.

As the sun bled.

Each cloud puff a sand dune.

And the sky lurched forward, disrupting the lazing clouds. And she fell through. Up, up until all there was was black. And she thought how much lonelier she felt in the dark than in the clouds.