You Can Only Run For So Long

The wind shakes loose teeth
out of a tree above us and
winter appears inevitable.

The hum goes on forever.
When I anticipate silence
and am alone, it's there with me.

I think of all the abandoned motorlodges
on all of the faded highways and
all of the boys who ducked out of all
the windows when the cops showed.

The thing about leaving is that it compounds
until at least once a year, I collapse into an
unpacked suitcase and fill it with tears and
leave no room for a sweatshirt so that I think
of home every time I get cold and

when we get to cruising altitude,
and the seatbelt sign goes off,
I imagine what it'll be like to be
in the air the day the world ends
and to see the mushroom clouds
from above like blooming flowers.

So, now do we just float here forever?
Now that there's nothing left to land for.