Flying over Lake Michigan
at 20,000 feet
in the dark
approaching Chicago.
When you think about it
it’s
Improbable.
Why do I suddenly feel
more secure
over land
with more to
crash into?
It’s
Irrational.
Darling,
who is not my darling
anymore,
flying
crashing
wondering
worrying
losing . . .
it’s
Impossible.
But from this perspective
as landing gear engages,
lights flicker
traffic moves
Christmas appears
in lights and filled holiday mall lots.
As our hopes compete
I return
to you
Incomplete.
14.xii.10