Scattered across a full plane we move like
the city lights of San Francisco
everything is moving, everyone is talking
even nothingness, even time. From the sky it is as if
we are all just birds
here on some foreign flight, time zones teasing us
across this winding maze, an incomplete puzzle
skimming across the tarmac.

Suitcases are wheeled across the dark, moving
as always. Preoccupied, disconnected
this world turns
too fast to wonder—
if birds even know of foreign
or if they know it all too well.