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When we hit 35, 000 feet,
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we'll have reached the tropopause, the great belt of calm air,
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as close as it will ever get to the ozone.
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I dreamed we were there. The plane leapt the tropopause, the safe air,
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and attained the outer rim, the ozone, which was ragged and torn,
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patches of it, threadbare as old cheesecloth, and that was...frightening.
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But I saw something only I could see,
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because of my astonishing ability to see such things.
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Souls were rising, from the earth, far below.
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Souls of the dead of people
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who'd perished from famine, from war, from the plague,
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and they floated up...