steamed milk

4/07, upon returning from an English conference in Pittsburgh

It's like a portal, a pathway,
a liminal, literal, white space
we have to pass through to achieve reality,
as if everything else we experienced
down below and miles away
was nothing but a dreamy fantasy.
Coming, and going, both,
I've seen this milky froth
dance just on the other side of my
pane of plexiglass, rendering
the very tips of the metal wings
almost invisible.
I am not anxious to be grounded -
I want everyone to meet me
in this sky of steamed milk
and find another fantasy
on the other side of these clouds.
Maybe I won't have the same reality
when and where we land -
but the world always assures me that
while good things are spontaneous,
the bad things never go away,
and the ground rushes up to meet us
with the speed of two
jet-turbo engines.