Over the Midwest

The jet soars silently
In the droning sheen of white  noise.
Looking down, I wonder why I'm so at ease
With nothing but aluminum sheets holding me in the air at thirty thousand feet.
I see the checkerboard fields below,
Roads slicing through.
And I wonder what life could possibly be like in such maddening solitude.
My urban pulse demands contact with people just to move me on in a day
And I think it's probably a crutch to hide my need for purpose.
Off to the starboard, I see a town slide by.
More streets, houses and buildings pierce the flatness of the plains.
I wonder who goes there, and when, and why.
Looking out across the blue horizon, sky stretches less far than I can see.
Because I see beyond it, to the fading of the surface into white.
Snapping me out of the reverie, the cart comes bumping down the aisle.
And soon an attendant will put on politeness for my drink of tea
As I try to return to my wondering of infinity.

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