How quickly we get bored of flying.
At 40 thousand feet we do not look out the windows.
At four thousand feet above sea level
And four years in, I no longer glance
At the valley view from the hospital top floor.
The shine wears off
Like a once new toy
Or a lover of 8 months
Or the miracle of instant jello
Or of a brain and a body and a soul and life itself.
The Shine wears off and we do not look out the windows
Until something goes wrong.
You cannot see; there is sleep in your eyes.
So you stop
And listen. Up here,
There are murmurations of valves and starlings.
The beating of wings and of blood.
You will hear rhythms to the voices
And the rising rotors heralding hope and fear
For one more brain and body and soul.
Very soon, many will make the climb
Because we are at the summit.
How disappointing it will be
If we seem bored when they arrive.
