The state of emergencies
  R L Raymond

From the window
with rounded corners
we look
to see the sun
in field and forest floor
from pools
left behind
by the morning storm

These new-lain marshes
mirror the sky
in the windless-still
of ditch or furrow


As the plane descends
its shadow floats
          for a second
across the highway
still shine-slick
lined with cars
heading home
          to work
                    to a pub inside the city


The wheels touch
and spit mist

Soon we’ll race
across the parking lot
skipping puddles
pulling our suitcases

Then we’ll try
to figure out
                    where we
                                   are going

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