The Airmail Arrives

I greet you, Bellerophon, as you come

Spiralling earthward from far nebular

Heights, the breath of your muted propeller

Filling the dawn with an apian hum.

Say, what of your course?

It followed across

The aerial highways of heron and crane,

Avenues cobbled with stars; over rain

And forests that lay on mountains like moss.

Saw you wind?

Aye, aye, and the thunder;

Iron-tongued thunder and smothering cloud.

Taxiing over and volplaning under,

I left them behind me, wondering, cowed.

When you are rested, what will you do then?

Climb to the meadows of Taurus again.