The difficulty with
flight is
a man screaming at a driver
outside a window and remember
why you laughed and rolled out of bed
onto the floor to see if he was still there,
that you might shout something back.
along the lines of
"some of us are trying to enjoy movies,"
instead clutching your crotch and pulling
blankets tighter.
Half of Winter's beauty being
empty streets. All ways
the same.
More fires, more camps,
Thoroughly aware,
present in,
the driver, the screamer, and
between us, familiar and
thoroughly brined skin.
