A Constant

Sometimes it seems the constant in my lank life,
Flickering forward through memory,
Bringing me back to myself,
Pinching me
Is the sound of a jet on the afternoon
Its whine limping forward in undulating pitch
Its lips
Just barely touching,
Sounding an Fff or Zzz in the key of C

Then suddenly the day is still
And I hear, breaking through my work
The dust falling on the grass outside
The children playing trains down the street
Their voices choo-chooing across the yards
And somewhere a street away, bricks being unloaded in a steady
Scrape and clink, the weight of worlds being re-made
And the laughter of the workers over (I imagine) some lewd joke
That breaks through the sweat with smiles

While above me, the drone begins to fall away
The last ember glow and smoke of firework
As lives buzz through the skies
And a man with his eyes closed, sighs
Feels the plane shimmer all around him
The sounds of the earth so far below