Early Flight

On the flight to Pittsburgh the plane held steady over
occasional clouds, snow and iron, gliding by,
and, yes, the moon spread silver on the wings,
pulsing their own unvarying green message.
All hovered—plane, cloud, moon, wing—
against the diorama of Pittsburgh nearing.

Inside, the light was different, science
was at the ready. Everything was fine.
There was conversation. The pilot's sleepy voice
gave benediction to what we would receive.

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Conrad Geller has been a poet since Harry Truman was president. More than a hundred of his poems have appeared in print and electronic media, and his prizes include the Bibliophilos Prize, the Charles Prize, and various awards from the Poetry Society of Virginia. A Bostonian by birth and preference, he is now living in Northern Virginia.