Four Meditations on Unnatural Flight


1: Aerogami

A sheet of paper, folded,
the perfect aerogami.
I aim its sharp nose, send it flying.
Delta wing cuts the summer breeze.
Rising upward, it stalls upon the wind,
spirals back to earth.
I retrieve the fragile bird,
release it again, then again.
Each time, I dream it will fly forever
into the sky.


2: MD-11

From highway's shoulder I see it looming,
belly floodlights shining near the horizon.
It clears the haze, wingtips winking,
soot pouring from three whining engines.
Wings sway, flaps feathered down.
I freeze, heart thudding,
standing beneath this aluminum beast. 
Metal fills the sky, flashes overhead.
Turbines thunder, fan the air with kerosene.
Landing gear touches the runway,
spins white tire smoke into rings.
Brakes howl, the ground shudders.
My ribs hum to engines roaring victory,
as three hundred men, women, children,
kiss the ground.


3: Contrails


Arcing across the sky,
flecks of gray and silver
spin strands of vapor
white above the clouds.
Jet stream winds unravel
spider threads into ropes,
cross-stitching the sky in chaos.
The ropes glow red
before a setting sun,
yellow across the moon's face.
Soon, flight's fabric vanishes
into rare air.


4: B2

The giant black bats steal the sky,
leave ground radar screens
swept smooth and free of blemish.
Across three thousand miles of
ocean, mountains, frozen tundra,
the winged swarm disperses.
Belly pods split open,
scatter seeds upon the wind.
Plutonium spores sprout, like magic,
into mushrooms of fire, seven miles tall.

Scott Speck
10/23/98