Breaking through low clouds, over the tops of grain elevators,
the redeye’s engines whine, wings vibrate, wheels lock.
The landing is a savage plunge
with all the loneliness of the leap from a bridge.
A lost soul, dragged at the last from the edge by a long-armed cop.
The wheels touch down, the screeching fades. I am home.

Outside the great cathedrals of concrete and tarmac
jets graze on taxiways,
spent by the silence of the stratosphere.
In their stillness, the threat of shearing violence.

Outside a dark young man with a mangled hand hails taxis
for arriving passengers.
He smiles with the malevolence of breathless youth.