737: Early Morning Flight

A thin-skinned projectile
The ashen city ejected,
Surmounts oxbow lakes.
Streams now inert
Drained a continent.
Sand. Patient woods.
Hurtling.

Inside, drained.
Irrigated by absent tears,
Waiting.

A tight multitude
Of international faces
In domestic spaces.
An inert collective,
A private intensity,
In a circling gyre,
Embedded.