Cruising Altitude

Like the milky marble with the azure eye

that lolled to and fro in the wooden track of the childhood puzzle

Resting on the old Samsonite, passport pages flickering fast

crackle of languages universally garbled over a loudspeaker

I move around

trailing my tribe in an orderly dance.

Finally through, I am suspended

in my given slot,

a place that was home flashes by the window,

sinks beneath the mammoth wings.

The shades are drawn, eyelids surrendering.

Soon the roar of ascent quiets

into a measured breathing of engines, strands

of daylight submerged in a sea of clouds.

Time

the hum of voices thins out in the stale air. Nowhere

is a homeland, too.