Airplanes on a Still Day
(Two in One Hour)
The sound softens
Something inside my brain—
Tangible, hypnotic,
Remote and forgiving,
Like a little Buddha within,
Or flying this sound trail
Through the draftless heavens.
The tiny drone
Rids the world of
Human clatter and its rush.
As a child, I savored it inside,
A sliding down the spine
And into the heart and through me;
A reverse of the rush of wine.
Back then, it was unquestioned, enjoyed.
But fifty or more years later, I asked why.
Time moved by and left no answer.
Nothing but a spring-like stillness aloft,
Unbound by seasons below.
But as I relished that sound this afternoon,
I felt the sense of spring again
In that aimless hum.
And knew at last why pilots sailed
In any weather, in crystalline air.
Up there, it was always spring,
Always sweet and calm
With promise;
A miracle that they ever descend!
If silence had a sound
Or utter calm
Were an elixir,
This would be its form.
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 8:55 AM UTC
Airplanes on a Still Day
(Two in One Hour)
The sound softens
Something inside my brain—
Tangible, hypnotic,
Remote and forgiving,
Like a little Buddha within,
Or flying this sound trail
Through the draftless heavens.
The tiny drone
Rids the world of
Human clatter and its rush.
As a child, I savored it inside,
A sliding down the spine
And into the heart and through me;
A reverse of the rush of wine.
Back then, it was unquestioned, enjoyed.
But fifty or more years later, I asked why.
Time moved by and left no answer.
Nothing but a spring-like stillness aloft,
Unbound by seasons below.
But as I relished that sound this afternoon,
I felt the sense of spring again
In that aimless hum.
And knew at last why pilots sailed
In any weather, in crystalline air.
Up there, it was always spring,
Always sweet and calm
With promise;
A miracle that they ever descend!
If silence had a sound
Or utter calm
Were an elixir,
This would be its form.
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