Lens and rotor

I am the unseen eye in the sky, the fly by, the one who scores a line across the blue with my feelers out, looking for what you don’t want me to see, because you think there is no-one watching, no-one paying you any attention, but you will find, if you should turn your eye, that I am there on high, the fly by sky guy who knows your every move.

Even when you are still.

You are still, on the ground, your face turned cheek to grass, I can smell the fresh turf, I can smell the white paint which marks a three that sizes you up and outdoes you, that three, it outdoes you in width and height, and the arrow next to it aims directly at your head like a weapon.

Your head, with its headphones on top delivering noise to your ears, I can guess the beat of your music from up here. I feel it in my chest like a caress.

Your scarf wrapped loose around you, its wool feels soft against my throat as I watch you lie there, just lie there, not going anywhere, your body all angles and splayed legs and looking for all the world like you’ve fallen, like you’ve tumbled down
                                              and down
                                                  and down again

until you’ve become the man who fell to earth, the still point of a turning world, above which I hover, quiet as a bird of prey, a lover of slight movements of air and every care for what happens below my machine.

My machine. Lens and rotor and spinning blades and freedom to roam.

I am the unseen eye in the sky, the fly by, the one who scores a line across the blue.

Lens and rotor

If you should turn your eye, you’ll see that I am there, on high, the fly by sky guy.

I know your every move.