Today I trudge the tarmac on foot,
wingless, without the energy for take-off.
I watch scavenging gulls at wave edges.
The runway is almost silent at dawn,
a few cargo planes on dusty missions,
a feel of expectancy in the air
as if I might suddenly turn inside out,
be frothed into some new creation,
a hermit crab with eagle wings
soaring at 30,000 feet
conversing with jets perhaps.
We create headlines in our minds
over coffee cups.
