at the end of this long moan

c}{imps 8 my ears

Crystal Cups

A jet flies in overhead for a landing.
Engines make a lonely call as they
strip down the air.
Notes descend – plaintive
whine to resigned hum.
Soon, they’ll be on the ground.
these unknown people having
traveled unknown distances,
with unheard stories.
All glittering up there together, right now,
like crystal cups in shaking rack.
At the end of this long moan, they’ll arrive
in yet another chapter of becoming.
Probably longing for the last good – transformation
repeated, endlessly landing.