And this plane somehow
holding out its wings
the way mountainsides
lean back, held down
so the delicate turn
peels off more and more moonlight

--you're used to this cold
to the whispers that stretch out
for the warming stars
and from your cheeks
their emptiness --to you
these leaves are always in midair
these trees gently touching down.

You almost turn on your side
and the slow ice over your eyes
that moves without you
that covers the ground
even in the daytime. No.

The Earth will never leave you
and though face up you can hear the sky
changing colors the way this plane
all the while on edge

--you almost, almost jump
and in the breeze
this simple flower I bring here
opens easily, fills
with that dark breath
I know by heart, lifts you

and slowly into moonlight
your arms around just one flower
on course and higher.

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