flight path

all morning the planes come over so low
I could practically wave to the passengers

asleep

In the dark his breathing is slow and steady
but his hand still takes my fingers 
when I seek it out under the tangle of blankets

squirrel

he darts back and forth across the cycle track
then stops under my wheel

September

the sky-blue-pink evening 
fades to a starless night
scarred with aeroplane trails