It's four in the morning and I'm heading home,
Bobbing my head to the melodic drone...
I peel back the ceiling: banana split skies,
Fissioned by the the vision
Of natures valiant try.
I retraced the dreams
Left in turbines and steam
As planes slowly drifted and wandered towards home.
People fall out, leaving bodies still intact
Runways strung with light, so their lightness is led back.
But regardless, those harnessed in those seats
Are different by the landing's screech.
Some have eyes that forget how to meet,
While others are blurs in the passenger seat.
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