Brush with Horizons

Scientists daydream of higher dimensions
Some find these visions exceedingly bright
I fall for something not half as pretentious
Thrill of untethered, free, blind flight

I crave not snowstorm bursting from cloud
Nor dread thick fog that sneaks up on the sly
But flight over water where stars on the ground
Brightly reflect limpid stars of the sky

Thin razor blade of far, murky horizon
Lost in profusion of stalled fireflies
May be diagonal, may be up-rising
May be redundant, for all that implies

Stars, whirling round in dark midnight's embraces
Am, starkly airborne, swept with delight
What end awaits me breaking the surface
Grasping the void or awaking in fright?

All these don't matter in moment's delusion
But for a feeling like faint, distant scream
That, when they find me, my wrists will be oozing
Torn on sharp edges of prodigal dream