Before man dreamed up the flying machine                                    we owned the air as far above our land                    as we could imagine. Up to infinity. Downto hell. Because air, in the days of tangibleproperty, was nothing. No foot had emerged                                    from a lander onto the foreign terrain                    of the moon. No satellites passing over the hostas.The act of a horse, law says,reaching his head into an adjoining field                                    and biting another horse is a trespass.                    A word, freed from the lips, is in the aira trespass. Now, in a country divvying upthe sky, unmanned machines will be given                                    innocent passage. People will walk around                    whispering dominium as if to control at leasttheir breath. So, before the space of utteranceis duly regulated, before the 83 feet of air                                    we own above our heads begins its collapse,                    this: I love you from the depth of the earth,to the height of the sky. I love you uponland immovable, soil open to exploitation                                    by all. I am for your unreasonable use alone.                    And, when the wingèd gods finally interferewith your possessor's enjoyment, to anindefinite extent, I'll remember a time when                                    men were the ones doing harm with                    their own hands. I'll remember the words I oncehad to give to you, in the porch, in private.