REPLICA, REAL

REPLICA, REAL

Only I care about the passion of flight,

dream of old airplanes that don’t exist anymore,

mourn them like the loss of a lover.

Silly thoughts yet more precious than gold,

for I alone remember.

See Fokker D8 replica roll and pirouette,

a silver arrow becoming a cloud – almost real.

Look at old blueprints on the net of the real D8,

stare in wonder at the simplicity of it all.

Yet for a second I was in raptures, a real D8, a big dragonfly on TV.

Simply existing. How would it fly compared to the replica D8?

Turn tighter, dive faster? My dream is complete, for now.