Slowly as a feather
drifting in luxury

down till it dropped
suddenly—a splat

of cobalt blue
inking the background

in all directions. That plane
taking off

from O’Hare
a week ago

really wasn’t gaining
altitude fast

enough, and I believed
for a moment

that my desire
to see you one more

time would kill
me for real. No near

miss. And then suddenly
it began

to climb,
and I realized

I would make it
back to Minnesota. Anywhere

you hang yourself
and survive

to tell the tale
is home.