I'm so random, I give myself headaches

I'm fully aware my last post was about The Office and now I'm waxing poetic. My former high school English teacher gave me this and I immediately fell in love with it.

Sigh, I need to start writing things other than blogs about my dog's heavy panting. But then again, I hardly get any complaints about being crass. It must be my superpower.

So here's a poem about longing. And longing is one of the most distinctive, beautiful, and melancholy blessings of enduring the human experience.

Flight Night by George Bilgere

I am doing laps at night, alone
In the indoor pool. Outside
It is snowing, but I am warm
And weightless, suspended and out
Of time like a fly in amber.

She is thousands of miles
From here, and miles above me,
Ghosting the stratosphere,
Heading from New York to London.
Though it is late, even
At that height, I know her light
Is on, her window a square
Of gold as she reads mysteries
Above the Atlantic. I watch

The line of black tile on the pool’s
Floor, leading me down the lane.
If she looks down by moonlight,
Under a clear sky, she will see
Black water. She will see me
Swimming distantly, moving far
From shore, suspended with her
In flight through the wide gulf
As we swim toward land together.