
Alone at night I sip tea spiced with bergamot
under crisp cold stars and watch small planes overhead
strobe tail-lights and wings, on to steady red then off
to the past that comes readily as an echo
soars octaves in free-form under the dome
of souls in free flight under streetlight like soft snow
it’s the last hurrah: it’s the first hush.
So many little planes.
© Chagall 2014

aircraft control
~
swatting
buzzing sounds