The cockpit

He lives in the air
Of distempered feelings
As an errant photographer
Of his own erosions
Signing kindly the years
Passing at the cockpit
The clock inside
Spies the sky
Of past time
Once he had told her
Used to be
His childhood shelter
When they cocked the eye
At his fear
Of sharing feelings in life
If she had been alive
They would have enjoyed those rocks
Like two monk seals
Untouched by choruses
Of the dead
The only shelter now is
The cockpit
Sky baths are dangerous

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