HOVERING - Poem
HOVERING (For Michael Bucove) Tonight, I stared into the fading southern sky Because they say if you time it right you can see a pilot’s soul make its final flight, But all I saw were the billowing clouds. I wasn’t surprised, you were never one To grandly arc across the sky in a giant burn As if you were marking your presence In indelible ink in the eternal jet stream. No, I always remember you hovering, Like the time we were careening Well above the Chickamin River and You suddenly stopped, to watch salmon. Or that time hovering near Quartz Hill camp When silence suddenly enveloped us And you auto-rotated in as smoothly As if you had meant to all along. Or even how lightly you could swing The massive propane tanks over our heads On the icy, narrow mountain tops Where we worked, inches from disaster. Some pilots fly like they are wrestling An unseen beast in the clouds, But you always gentled the sky Like a lover you would hold forever. And that’s what I will chose to remember, T...