In flight

I will sit here crouched in my metal tube
and make poems from these fragments
laid up in the stiffening skein of air
like a childish collection of shells

and when I fit words to those
tricky beautiful calcite lumps
and trace the smooth inner lobe
where a creature once groped for nourishment

much like I reach pathetically in my belted seat
for meaning, it will be stuttering, gasping moments
of you that stand out from the fast-forward static
of this day, remaking themselves like chain-mail

a flexible carapace, an armour,
hiding place of thoughts
and in some subtle way,
destiny of the departing day.