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MERCEDES WEBB PULLMAN

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Are all the pilots down?

                for my father

 

He’s seen rainbows from above and knows their secret –

they’re juggler’s hoops rolling through the sky.

 

He’s followed the curve of earth turning by

below his wings, shared eagle’s sight, defied

weight and gravity to learn the real reason

why birds sing – because they fly.

They like to feel the blue

beneath them too.

 

His crucifix shadow speeds behind.

He longs for light, to climb

through dark clouds colder than ice

into the peace of stars

then vanish where all pilots go

finally home to the sky.

 

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