When all the horizons are gathered together the tall gray blocks of the cities are ships ready to undock, and coast away. The clouds welcome them with open arms. The soldier, and his helmet balloon the weight of the world into the blue Rorschach of a sky like a stratus cloud ready to rain back down on us. The world is gray seed transferable -- weightless on the currents of air in the line where ocean meets sky like all the open green of fields laid atop their history a softer place. Like birth.