Sometimes I heard a roar
but could not see them

sometimes silent they hung
over the cradle of the lake

decoupled from their sound,
made foreign.

I’ve heard this theory
that if you travel in a jet

your soul lags behind you,
a division of essence,

maybe more so for people
who are different

in different places
(name, voice). Less

confusing to be at first
a glint, than to let slip

the full thundering
of afterburner.

Discretion until
the baggage arrives,

or you could try to stay
in front of it, I guess.