whenever I'm on a plane,
I look around and wonder
is God here?
Heaven is depicted as a shining place in the sky
angels gently floating among the clouds
and now we can go see them.
Maybe it's the way the sunlight
glances
revealing more than just billowing water
in droplets too fine to spy alone.
There are towers and mountains and lumpy
mashed-potato plains
with real butter soaked in
There too is the glow of white that hurts
like new-fallen snow on a clear day
or the flaming orange edges of sunset
somehow shining with their own light
(how can something so logically below freezing burn so brightly?)
I can't leave the plan
this morning's quiet joy
scented of plum blossoms
has turned to sour coffee in my stomach.
the rhythms in my head never stay there for long--
it's always about an hour of happy distraction
before my mind is
full
and I try (vainly)
reading everything
reverse the trend
make me focus
send this burden forth to someone else.
* * * *
Didn't want to get up this morning.
"Always" you say, I
"always" never want to get up
and you read the news with triumph
voice decisive
a hard flourish
proving your side has all the facts
(the news never does, you know)
Preaching like a we