print previewback AARON BAKER
Connections
I’m a traveler tangled in your time zone’s
frayed rag-end of daylight,
rooted until earth routes beneath me
and conveyor-belts to customs, I board.
Now wing lights blink, the low hiss of air vents,
now the small hard pillow at my neck.
Your gift, after all, is for silence . . .
which one of us disappears now in a flash of light
as the wing tilts into the horizon?
A curbside kiss, a turned gaze—
we take the air, we’re taken by the air.
The fuselage sharks east into the cold murk of January.
Silence, my blood a black ribbon that does nothing
better than spin this way through interior space.
Silence, now your fingers poised over the keys
in an empty room. Will you dare to disturb
the air? Did I seem afraid as I shifted from your body,
as I turned toward a window filling with light?
Wait for me as I ride the inward rim of space
between worlds. Only your patience has held me
this long aloft. Wait for me. I am still coming home. 
Connections
Cougar Flat