Hundred Dollar Handshake

Flying alone,
undone on an airplane.
No one to bother, no noise but a refrain
of thoughts in my head, on repeat like an anthem.
I just sit and breathe in and embrace the stale nothing.

“Hello,” says a voice, “I’m here and I’m listening.”

“What’s that?” I look up. “Sorry — what were you saying?”

“I know,” the voice pauses, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh — kay?” I reply, more sarcastic than anything.

What was meant, 
as it were, was implied versus spoken.
My mind starts to spill, floating up in the pouring
of words in thin air, while my eardrums both whir.
Around me, around us, letters circle and turn.

“I can see them,” I whisper. “They’re like, smoky and stuff.”

“Mm-hmm,” says the voice. “Do you think it’s enough...”

“Will they know — they’ll all know!” I can’t help interrupt.

“Don’t you worry,” the voice says. “This is only for us.”

So I reach up
and grab the ideas that I see.
They’re like bubbles, however, or I can’t seem to reach
all I need, or at least want. The plane drops in descent.
And I panic. I watch my words spin in the wind.

“I’m not ready!” I scream. It gets lost in the engines.

“In your hand, take a look — you’ll be fine,” the voice reasons.

“I had more,” my head spins. “My forgotten ideas!”

“Good luck,” the voice fades. “May you find all your feelings.”