Last Flight

Walking through the caverns of Lindberg airport,
Resting place for the world's most popular bird,
My footsteps echo in the quiet
That precedes the last arrival for tonight.

Soon the day’s dissipating energy
Will briefly surge, then fall silent ‘til dawn.

Boarding in one world, arriving in another is routine.
Passengers treat the change as axiomatic.
They fly over the sometimes foreboding,
Sometimes magnificent, Earth
Without experiencing the cold of Greenland or the immensity of the Sahara.
For the travelers will not touch them,
Or be touched by them.

Flying is an elevator ride. Enter here exit there.
Better a boot, boat, car, or train to carry us
At a speed and elevation
That does not preclude “being there”.

Better , interaction with the people and places on your journey,
Better, the trials and small generosities of man and nature at ground level.
If life is the journey how can we fail to embrace it?.

11:07 and the last bird has landed.
Should I recant and offer the thought
That, for the passengers, their journey has just begun?
No! I’m not feeling that generous.