Flying to Miami

Photo by Nandha kumar PJ on Unsplash
FLYING TO MIAMI
America is under me.
We have been flying high.
The clouds nearby extend
like snowy down across the lovely blue.
The years I do not like to count
are slowly passing by.
The space beyond my porthole is my friend,
and I can watch the sky for miles and miles.
I’ve left my state; I’m stateless now—
I rest and glide on air.
For all I know I’m pretty safe on high.
I think I’ll be okay.
Miami is my stop for now,
and then? Who knows? I guess
I need some sun again.
I long to rest and crave a warmer state.
Has Florida not always been
a precious dream
I prized no matter what?
The trees there used to sway so gracefully . . .
As I recall, the passion flower
often was abloom—
the fragrant breeze
a soothing wave from paradise . . .
I almost feel my body lying there,
and even sense,
beneath my naked back,
a golden beach now stretching far for miles—
but here I’m flying to that place of
sun tan, beaches, dollars and hotels
while this America is under me and waits . . .
I still can change my life.