The horizon is on fire.
The horizon is my mind.
Sun sets long after the advent of eyes,
when you’re this high up in the sky.

Orange fog above city centers.
Blazen baseball diamonds pitched in black settings.
Lining roads. Highways glow.
Framed dotted lines of slow rolling headlights.

My love and I.
Buckled in trading turns yawning.

The young man in the seat in front of us is on chapter forty two.
The bald guy a few seats to the right asleep
in a way that makes my neck hurt.

We waited twenty minutes for a manual before we could take off.
They told us. Must have been a good one.
Breaking ice behind us.
Sauntering in between us.
Hands grace plastic lips on an overhead storage face.
Each body in its prescribed place.

Numbers beside letters
and arms rest side by side
and so many strangers.