overhead
the planes
spew
smoke in lines
like
absent fathers
mailing presents to forgotten children
banners stream
behind
them

cash for gold
golden bands forever
ever begging
goods for service
servitude for sanctuary

and i wonder

am i a mirage
in
this desert
of
loneliness
or
are you
the shimmering sands
of
winter’s discontent

still
the pilots
circle
above

or

in
my fevered

head