at 40,000 feet or so, a blip on
someone's radar screen, sipping
diet Coke and eating peanuts,
human sandwich tucked between
the bread of window seat and aisle
unless I happen to get lucky.
900 miles will pass with engines roaring
in my ears unless I pop in Norah Jones
and Come Away. Soon I'll be
on the ground again but until then
if you're missing me especially,
look up to the sky of blue and clouds
and know I'm heading home to you.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013
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