Look outside the 747's window.
Inside a cloud, gray.
Emerge outside:
brilliant white and gold reflecting sun.

Below, beside the traveler,
clouds cast
deep blue pools,
color fields, woods, roads.

That day in the two-seater,
flying under dense overcast,
then above it.
Inside a sunny day, cloud-floored,
that no one
saw who stayed on the ground.

A walk in fog,
moist, cold, on my face.
Inside a globe
that moves with me,
revealing what is close,
then obscuring it — and me,
who can't see outside.

Inside a dream:
A fluffy edge, white, blue,
growing denser deeper in,
creamy, yellow,
and opaque.

A dream is opaque, obscure,
in the dark,
despite nuances of light
that it portrays:
dusk, candle glow,
motes in a beam,
glare on wet,
fluorescent tubes (humming).

In the dark a dream's
insight, when it comes, is
Inside out.