(flying home from NYC)

Every time
I marvel at the cloud blanket
unraveling so far below

to reveal the patches
underneath the underneath—
a quilted world

stitched with invisible
thread outlining a fresh
green here,

a diamond-sparkled
rectangle there, studded
with sun sprinkles.

We are so close up here
in the far above
the far below,

where earthlings’ feet
walk on the planet we
all call home.

This thin air we borrow
for a time, sitting close
to strangers,

smile to make room,
lend a hand with a bag,
dish out thank you’s

like sweets, come
together as a living
quilt, an assortment

of fabrics, loosely
fastened for several hours
in a kind of harmonic

convergence—the kind
we often find so difficult
to give each other once

our feet touch the ground.