Flight in Time

I glow
Residue of full moons past;
Faded sunburn beaches,
Shells worn thin by sand caressed
Rain storm remnants, snow storms,
Dust storms, hail storms, heart storms
Spirit flush with neon sheen
Soft radiance
Into waning years.

Smiling, youthful conceits
Bereft of engine roar
Propeller blur
Impending wingtip stall
The pattern fields and farms
Dust-plume roads of youth
No solace there:
No dead-stick landing
On that rocky patch,
Thank God.

From Poems of the New Old West
Copyright 2002, Jack Purcell