You Asked

You asked me once, while we were rushing,
crushed together, stuffed onto sweating seats,
if I could write about the New York flight
you had planned to take that evening.

I smiled and closed my eyes, and saw you
watching the in-flight movie, peering out
through the sideways windows, looking down
on the clouds, the mountainous mists,

felt the sun stab your eyes, heard the engines
strain to keep you there, high above the earth
that they sprayed with oily micro-droplets,
choked, carbon-blanketed, carelessly killed,

and I wished you back beside me, here
at half-past seven, staring out through
tear-streaked windows at the streets,
the tracks, the trees, rushing backwards.