I wish to be the milky white seagulls of the sky.

This place, spotless and unharmed,

makes me hesitate to step; to infect it.

White noise fills the air and my ears, a sense of openness.

I see birch and smell aromas of oxygen and dusty rock.

A sublime soothing fondness is this place.

Luminous lucid waters, and unfastened skies,

Make me imagine the feelings of flight.

Masses ascend from the blue swooping, glissading down.

It’s powder and chalky stone; yet somehow defectless,

nothing like the bulldozed materials back home.

I’d like to make a dwelling here,

amongst the crystalline blue and clement air.

However, it would be a shame to ruin something so exquisite.

I tread back, whispering farewell,

to peace.