sent me her pictures from

the tiny window hatch,

the snow so thick, mountains
peak in high relief, covered and licked
and receding into the horizon
where the edge of the earth
ends suddenly, cut into
(or rather, a fast dissolve,
all that space)
blue skies and something empty.
Looking down, we need to ascend
30,000 feet or more, to see,
there, where the air has thinned
and the heavy plane is flying oh so fast.
I imagine a line, trajectory, a path
heading west, over the Pacific,
now arching north, over the frozen lands,
the snow, before descending,
gracefully, somewhere warm.
Hong Kong.
The stillness shattered.
We commit these distances
in no time at all, which none the less
passes so very slowly.
Sitting here, amazed
that we step so easily aboard the track
and let ourselves be hurled like a giant ball,
landing somewhere else.