(photo taken by me from the plane May 26, 2012)

 Where Will You Be?

I am in the sky now.
Where are you on
that painter's tarp
below this flying steel?

Wrapped or tangled, 
draped or smothered,
hovered in hesitant wait
for obstacles
or little brown squirrels,
or dashing in haste
to another meeting place?

Where, in the space
of small dots and smears
do your important
steps appear?

Where do your
glossy gazes fix
this, my moment 
of white sky?

Upon the crowds pressing by?
On the flashing lights 
that decorate screaming sirens,
or the tiny sparrow whose voice
can yes be heard above
the shatter, as she sings
from a hedge twig that swings
along the sidewalk to everywhere
in the land of nowhere?

Or is maybe your attention
on this or that which happened
or didn't, will or won't or
could maybe still
if this or that occurs 
or doesn't?  And maybe
then on the scruffy lump of a
blind beggarman
with extended cup in hand
and close beside him
on a brusky red blanket, 
a small German Shepherd
watching you with blue-white eyes
that say I didn't ask to be here -- man
who, as you pass looking straight ahead,
thinks, 'Nice haircut there.'?

Where will you be 
when hot winds burn
through tunnels of tall concrete
with a fire that can incinerate all
or ignite and inspire
brilliant minds
to invent peace?

Where will you be?