MESSAGES

On a lost plane
our bird shot red eyes
receive messages
above the live horizon
in a radar morning
under laptop clouds
of sky writing
hovering in safe passages
with a sound of words
trembling in an instant
from our realigned emotions
in a sphere of terror
glued to our seats
hoping from this sheltered
yet tumultuous time
and din of existence
off shore
a cool wind will surface
as in an old outer space
black and white film
the pilot speaks to us
and we make a landing.