pilot, teach me to trust the physics of air.
there are things I know below and not above.
planes look so certain from my rooftop.
hundreds, crossing: a science to this.
take shots at where they left from, where
they’ll touch the earth again, great grey
groaning birds pointing towards laguardia.
I could reach up and touch the ascent to boston.
this one turns and I feel its heaviness.
it came from the south.
I think of bodies within bodies, I call up
to the insides, teach me to trust.
each sky-light in the sunset: hundreds
of people trusting two or three, two or three
knowing the viscous air like a backroad.
o to be a captain of the sky, unafraid
to watch my ships sail through the stars
and to grasp science like a lighthouse
in this sea of unknowable things.