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