On the sunset flight
bound for Seoul,
the fire in the sky,
is all blood and roses for awhile,
then becomes
the glowing edge of a red sword
pounded on the devil's anvil
between a cobalt heaven
and the ink blue sea.
And the white noise whine
of the jet engines
calms my churning mind.
Winging west to meet the east
through the dust swept from
the Mongolian steppes
chasing the star named Sol,
before it sets,
a race I can not win.
The junior corporate executive
in the row across the aisle
downs another gin
and flicks through the offerings
on the seat back screen,
scenes of blazing guns and flaming cars,
and the soft lit creamy skin
of Hollywood vixens.
Flame-licked feathery clouds on the horizon
dim to gray as the embers of the day
grow cold as the midnight ash
in North Korean stoves.
As the jet approaches the peninsula,
a sharp bright line marks the border
between the floodlit south
and the dark mass of the north.
The flight attendant brings hot towels
to refresh we travelers as we descend
into this glittering heart of Technoland.
The sun has left us far behind
it's blazing noon across the mountains
on the mosques of Samarkand.
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