The no-smoking sign glows with its little flame,
flickers when the plane drops. I’m nowhere
above somewhere – rows of seat backs
 
like tombstones – waiting for a wing to rip,
waiting to fall – cockeyed – through a cloud –
trail of ash – evidence rinsed by rain.
 
A girl next to me – maybe twenty – clings
to the knee of a girl next to her – a terrifying age
to die. Only minutes ago they flipped
 
through catalogs, pointing at blouses they might
buy. Now I imagine they imagine clothes
that might spill from suitcases, which dress
 
might catch in a tree – billow like a girl
dancing alone until even the wind dies.
I wonder what they regret – who they never
 
slept with – and if their panties will float,
anonymous, into a corn field. I wonder
who will kneel for them, inconsolable.