On the Circumference

I wake to the pilot’s voice, languorous beneath the sun. 
An orange glow pervading the cabin somewhere north 
of Singapore. Fragment of a dream within a blue sphere 
of air. Sealed cup of water placed beside me while I slept. 
On the small square screen a simulation of our route: 

after Vancouver the white hem of the Arctic, angling south,
skirting Pyongyang, passing far above Pusan and Sapporo. 
The mind bolted to a prior time zone, craving nightfall, Valium, 
Melatonin, as the continents rotate across my dozing eyelids. 
Western Europe fully electrified, though hardly an earthly star 

igniting the girth of Africa. From Cairo to Johannesburg 
mostly unalloyed darkness, cluster of sparkly pinpoints
above Lagos, specks of paltry voltage at Dakar and Accra. 
While inside my shirt pocket, an incalculable light emits 
from the eagle emblazoned on the cover of my passport.

Peter Marcus | At Santa Maria Trestevare
Contents | Mudlark No. 55 (2014)