Stairways to the jet-stream

Desert coloured motes
 Floating in my gazpacho,
  Across my eyes,
   Through cadenced vents in the sky,
    On the backs of wild horses,
     Digressing in swooning swarms,
      Stairways to the jet-stream,
       Under the wings of feathered theropod dinosaurs,
      Collect in the thoughts of irradiating children,
     Linger on the lilting voices of the ecstatic,
   Drift in on the intent of the westerly
  Sweep away silently in the folds of a chimaera