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.