Flying to Miami

Flying to Miami

Photo by Nandha kumar PJ on Unsplash



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.