Middle Age

When we’ve just taken off,
and the distance between us and the earth 

is still understandable—a few cars down there
sliding along a duct of road, 

all the differentiated roofs slipping back
into a flat suburban panel—

that is when I most acutely feel
the plane could crash.


I was suddenly lifting—

the surface of my sleep below
was falling rapidly away. The expanse

between my body and whatever always 
lies beneath it kept increasing, 

and I could feel the possibility of plunging 
through that vastness into nothing. 

Then I was in the dark of our room 

with you, love, stirring, 
and I eased back into the headlong 

forward hurtling that’s a kind
of stillness.
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