It's always sunny above clouds

It's always sunny above clouds,

Granted, it's not night, that is

Granted, you're on the right side of the globe,

On a plane, off to somewhere.

Off to somewhere for business or leisure,

Above the clouds and thinking of aerodynamics,

Or that there's next to zero chance of surviving

An airplane crash, or of nothing in particular.

Submerged in the drowsy state of half-awakenedness,

Steering off to dreamland after a long day

Of walking, walking the streets of the city

That reminded you of your hometown in one or two

Subtle ways, yet completely different, yet instantly familiar.

Steering off—but then suddenly

Jolting to the roar of jet engines, confused, scared even.

The plane cuts into cotton-light, lead-heavy clouds

And heaves nervously, as the sunlight dims,

Hidden above the rainy carpet. You, below,

With your fellow travelers, breathe a sigh of relief

When the landing gear touches the ground.