View Through a Plane Window

Is  this sky or ocean,  

a rush of frost white waves 

or clouds? 

At 60, I'm  an over eager child

puppy limbed, 

in my desire

to jump into the beyond.

The plane my diving board,

I become a winged creature 

in these cold heights.

Am i hearing the persistent 

thrum of jet engines in my ear

or is my own propulsion unleashed

No one sees me 

there are no startled gasps

of delight or of horror.

The pretzels are still being served

to seat 43 d.

A tawny heat rises

from the hills below,   

hills that wait like sleeping lions.

I want to curl among them,   

watch  the horizon scatter

as night approaches

and the sun catches fire.

No one has discovered 

I am gone.  My seat belt 

is unbuckled.  My reading glasses

have fallen to the floor.

I am following directions 

that disappeared one night

long ago and are now

imprinted on my palms.

    

A  map I had never forgotten

only neglected

to remember.