Sharp tang of jet fuel
In the quick-clouding autumn air.
Redolent of adventure
And unconsidered action:
Black leafless birches and moonlit snow
Above sixty-six degrees;
Creaking saddles and boyhood dreams
Beneath the western pines;
The earth’s bones breaking through rusty dirt
On the dreaming plain.
Fragments of lost lives, long-departed versions of myself
Like the last suitcases on the carousel
Slowly circling, slowly circling
Never to be reclaimed.
At Gatwick Airport railway station, November 2019
Oh…I just love the poetic images in this verse…what a wonderful verse to start my day…thanks!