Poem 169
Miramar poem … the late night pleasure of home and another day done …
No Journeys
Almost ten o'clock the plane taking off shakes our house with its engines stars slide down the wings gauging distance like the matchstick roadside markers at night when I was a kid coming up in the headlights and down behind us as if over a curve of the earth I'm glad to be on no journeys tonight to feel only the tremble of others’ leave-taking not enough to wake me if I was asleep to know with gratitude I soon will be