are we moving anyway towards something finer

Intermittent wet under
cloud cover, dry
where you are. All day
this rain without

you--so many planes
above the cloud line
carrying strangers
either closer or

farther away from
one another while
you and I remain
grounded. Are we

moving anyway
towards something
finer than what the day
might bring or is this

an illusion, a stay
against everything
unforeseen--tiny bottles
clinking as the carts

make their way down
the narrow aisle
no matter what
class we find ourselves

seated in, your voice
the captain’s voice
even if the masks
do not inflate

and there’s no one
here to help me
put mine on first--
my head cradled

between your knees.

[Timothy Liu, 'Holding Pattern']