You are here
(lost somewhere over the coast of Iceland)
Not the business of war
but something else
prompted you to flight.
Splinters of sunlight
on morning wings,
the machines throb and hum;
then the lumbering Walrus,
climbing steep and slow,
and the rush and gust of the wind.
The plot of the land unfolds below,
sharpens into focus,
and is gone.
