A sudden spark in the darkness;
the Old Man raises his head.
Planes,
he murmurs,
I flew planes once.
His vision drifts through me to
four Vietnamese pilots buried
in his memory and his sickness.
Planes,
he repeats.
His eyes go dark again,
twin contrails spread by the wind,
falling apart in the empty air
of dementia.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
A sudden spark in the darkness;
the Old Man raises his head.
Planes,
he murmurs,
I flew planes once.
His vision drifts through me to
four Vietnamese pilots buried
in his memory and his sickness.
Planes,
he repeats.
His eyes go dark again,
twin contrails spread by the wind,
falling apart in the empty air
of dementia.