by Beth Cato
the view from the space elevator
reveals a topography
of dandelion fluff meadows
pillows of cumulus
wind-carved trails that lead
to a horizon crowned in gold
logically you know
you can't walk there
but you can imagine the softness
of that ground underfoot
your toes press to the wall
fingers stretch toward
those wisps beyond the window
everyone does it
the glass is strong now