Airplane

I remember the first time

The feeling dawned; I didn't know its name

I was flying in the small plane

Over a midnight blue night landscape,

And I could not see the horizon.

Sitting in the passenger seat,

Belted in, the instruments on

The cockpit panels glowed red

As we droned on, the backward dance

Of language from a small-town tower

Disappearing into the letters, numbers,

Monotone:

Whiskey Bravo One Niner Niner,

Indistinct

I could not tell if those stars were

In the constellation

Or the lights of tiny

Towns or farmyards

Along the river, down below.

There simply was no line of earth and sky

No, none that I could see.

Not that it mattered much.

That suspension, I suppose, as I recall,

Flying toward a landing strip

That meant I would be home

Was my first brush with pure

Suspended peace.

And it was years on, the

Young girl grown,

I learned that homeostasis

Was one of life's true gifts,

That fleet oneness, later blossoming

Unbidden, as autumn

Reds, leaves golden in the

Floating flash

Reflected in the car's half-opened

Windows and across a rain-splashed

Windshield,

In the drowsy motion

There, glittered by the diamond

Drops, sudden sun blooming into memory,

Flying in the moment, then, I

Understood the balance.