Night Mail

By blast and sputter and black oil on the grass,

She hobbles the field's distance down the wind,

Then turns. There doubt ends and decision pins

A straight course at the sun, mounting on thunder.

With pride of craft, a genealogy

Blueprinted from Pythagoras and myth

To the last wheel and rivet of her birth,

Her wings-precise as theorems-trace perspective

Into the blue time of infinity.

She closes into space clean as a focus,

And now already, boys are watching her

From fields beyond the city and from hills

Blue out of sight. They name her passing Wonder

And drop the ball and lean upon their bats

To squint and worship and feel tall

Following their dream of future down the sky.

To feel the steel excitement of her heart

Burn on the wind and ride the thermals down,

Their play is shadowed and the twilight spreads

A void across the field. They leave their play

And lie flat on the river bank to star-gaze

And name her Nome and Manila and New York,