Layover

The mystery of flight times and of pathsthat pierce the sky, scarring the flesh of heaven,hangs just above and gently seeps intothis temple to the god of taking trips;this holy church built for the patron saintof nomad wanderers; this sacred shrinewhere pilgrims stop to pray while passing through,each headed to their final destination.I sit here in this sanctuary waitingfor my next flight, which never seems to comejust when I want it to. I'm always waitingfor the unknown, unknowable creatorof timetables to tell me it's my turn.