The Last Flight Home

Summer night sky
Mountains stand against dying light
We buried a giant today, his voice echoes in the warm night air
The memories of mourners reverberate
in my ears that I have plugged
with earbuds blasting songs of love, dance and the living.
Blinking lights dot runways, softened
by a thin veil of tears standing in my eyes.
No one cares at this hour
that I lay on the cold dirty carpeted floor
because my head is as heavy as my heart.
Let me close my eyes and think of the sweet fresh
smell of the sea instead of this rank stagnant airport air.
As I join the line of herding passengers
I feel the sweet pressure of a little hand grasp mine.
Placed into my palm is a Batman Pez dispenser with a few sacred candies
remaining in its spring chamber.
I look quizzically into the little boys eyes.
He smiles. “I hate flying too”.


Cast a spell in the light of day
to transform the hidden darkness.
Drink the potion down
to transfix and transcend the ordinary.
Summon the angels from heavenly perches
to swoop down, to illumine the path
of righteousness.
Stir the pot, light the fire, breathe
the vapors, chant the mantras
to bring us back round
to the goddess, to the Buddha, to the earth, to the sun
and to the sacred.