Red-Eye Flight, Seattle to Boston

1.

It’s Christmas night and the stars on the ground outnumber the infinite

sky. Seattle stretches clumsily toward the foothills like a young lover,

unsure where to rest her hand. Streetlights shoot tendril trails,

take root in evergreen lungs, and as mountains grow alveoli fade

until only the resting Cascade black remains. I am wishing

I was asleep. I am wishing the drugs would kick in so my somnambular

musings could trip-fall into dreams. I am wishing my questions

had answers as simple as equations.

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