ANOTHER AIRPLANE POEM: Tapped out another poem on the flight home last night. I think it has some Pope and some Schiavo in it, as well as my own usual musing on mortality.

Tilting
You can
hear it,
the sound of your body
living
and
dying
in every moment.

Life is a labor
to breathe,
to
pull in
and push out;
it is grasping
and releasing
to be whole and still
tilting toward
nothing.