Return Trip

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In Seattle, in May, air blends sea-salt and snow. 

Pink-swirl-sky punctuates the horizon beyond us airport walkers' east facing panes. 

We mortal creatures make a bee-line to shuttles, 

screenings.detours                ever-changing gates. 

Not every passenger               waggles their tongue with the latest update en route. 

Some pass silently by.       Childish-pink-flush  mixes with fog on our faces. 

Not every passenger trusts in this hive’s waggles.     I'll go ahead, 

they say to more trusting company,               Report back when I've seen what there is to be seen. 

Salt and pink spread across         sweaty brows        indiscriminate of the trusting and not trusting. 

Airport-walkers,          we walk on,         our buzz, a perceptible hum. 

But the snowfall of stilled luggage,  ample black seats,   a small-styled arrival.departure    glows

on the lips of those who have matriculated.airport-sitters    keep their temperature more cool. 

Unless you count the two-year-old. in pajamas,         doing donuts around these fixtures 

                    delighting in the flutter                of her pink and white         socks.

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