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“Nevertheless, we shall try to give you some idea of the lay of the land and the present
situation…Almost due north… a large rectangular field… An airstrip? A cemetery?”
Elizabeth Bishop, Geography III

Graves are like airplanes,
compartments for traveling somewhere
else or back where
our journey began before
we ever stepped off
the flight into this
world of constant sun.

Sometimes new pilots stray
off course
in Arctic storms and land
in a rubble
of graves. I watch the scene
repeat itself.
When my sister died
no matter
how fast I flew I missed
the connecting
flight. She always dies.

There are distinctions to make between
things: life
is a series of distinctions
between regret and death.
Life is what I’m looking for
today, wanting
to know my target precisely,
touch down
smoothly so the next time
she isn’t
dying while I’m still flying, still
en route.