Floodwaters splash across the tarmac,
planes halt and brimming with seatbelted passengers
putting their seat backs forward
with clicks and groans, a habit of fear.
Quickly, organized land is replaced by melted glacier
a lava-eruption beneath phase-changed the ice,
the airplane is repurposed as a sailing vessel,
whose metal chassis holds enough silent
discomfort to keep it afloat.
Quiet now as the blue meltwater stretches
itself out as a cat in afternoon light
in a sun salutation. pilot can see a mirror surface
thinks someone spilled their 20cl chardonney
in the aisle way as turbulent hands
shook the cup until it capsized
as a wooden ship with cannonball shaped hole in the stern
diving overboard to the sharks
enough moisture on the downstem
and the plane will automatic deploy the escape chutes
fashionable ladies must first remove high heels
they may hazard to tear the chute
leaving a suicide leap behind for the others
we described an orgasm like a wave clouding the senses
a brief yet colorful rainstorm shifting and shuttering
the foundations of our being
leaving a feeling of floating, so transient, such a hidden minute
once every 537 years. a flame spreading over 950 kilometers.
close your inflight magazine. watch the plume grow, the water rise
feel yourself carried off in a current older than civilization
a volcano has no concern for its atmospheric effects
they are temperamental portholes to a deeper, slower
existence that we can only tap with measurements.
I say ‘we’ because I am writing this as a human
I would say nothing if I wrote this as a volcano.
I would shake and spew and erupt without language.