Sunday, June 8, 2008

Philadelphia to Columbia, Flight 2340

Above clouds the texture of plowed and abandoned fields
A brilliant surface white and blue, worn and rutted to the horizon
The bleached bones of a great fish resting in a shallow blue sea.

Turning toward the sun, low on the curve of earth in late afternoon
The blues vanish into white light so bright it fills all the space of vision
Obliterates all form and color before descending through suddenly dirty clouds.

Blind as a snowstorm, the rumble of turbulence begins
The lifeless beauty of clouds drawn into engines
A vapor turned into scarred flesh and love that will last
Amid the violent motion that begins all life, transcends all suffering,
And folds the continents as easily as it folds the clouds.