Down to Earth
by Peter Bloxsom
Relief to feel at last that we’re descending,
falling towards our microcosmic home,
leaving behind the wide, the never-ending
speckle of starlight for the sea’s small foam.
As engines roar and race, then ease and slow,
sweet local night bobs by. Wings cant, lights blink,
a cemetery tilts and wheels below,
the blue earth loops the firmament, we sink
to where the songs and kissing still prevail,
to glad forgetfulness. Tyres bounce and quetch
as we bump down on the runway. Now the wail
of backthrust; now the stop. All’s well arranged.
Doors open, smells come in, we stand and stretch.
Nothing down here, or everything, has changed.