Connecting Flights

I run/ through O’Hare/ the wheels of a jet I’m racing out the window/ lift into two kinds of lemon air/ unavoidable/ the separation/ glaciers out there somewhere/ somewhat/ melting as quickly as I forget them/ Proust was right/ we love our dead and when forgotten they return to us as velveteen neck pillows/ and paperback thrillers/ tucked inside/ a carry-on bag stowed gently at our feet/ I am good at eventual wayfinding/ like a beverage cart/ yes/ refresh me/ no thanks/ I look away/ counting mountains/ and backyard pools/ I wheel row by row/ I look promising in the light/ everything inside me is full/ of a clarity/ unseen until opened/ spilled over crushed ice/ when the casket rolls off the plane/ onto the luggage carousel/ into the hand of an undertaker/ do you think of me/ how/ I am bigger than a river six miles below/ yet more breakable than an engine/ we flew inside a heavy cloud/ and I slept on a stranger/ me/ a free breathing person/ who lives above ground/ I board/ I depart/ I fly/ I land/ I arrive/ I cry/ I sip/ I fly/ I land/ find the escalator/ you’re standing beside/ bodies behind you/ bodies in the air/ bodies inside you and underneath/ more bodies in the jewel-making earth/ while garments and chefs’ knives/ collect  the  spirits of our dead/ checked bags spin round and round/ let’s  go/ I note the time