Things that are in and of the air

For some reason when I was at the track and saw an radio remote control bi-plane traversing the air, I thought of you;
and those days of sending voices miles to your little digital monitor screen.
Then more images of things that was in the air that we talked about last summer.
The TWA airport, the empty bird cage at the museum, not to mention bees, birds, and ravens; and some bits of a memory of watching the mist issuing forth from the mouths of humans in a forest of miniature trees.
This bi-plane made an elegant figure eight, infinity over the football field, Astro-turf, artificial green.
The iridescent wings of the humming bird which was all but a blur that held up the perfectly stilled body, the vessel that held the nectar of the blue flower grown in Marigot Bay, St. Lucia; near a blue pool which I had all to myself one afternoon watching drops of water descending from the air into the liquid surface that radiates concentric circles when the two meet to form hyperbolas when the two concentric circles began to spread out and met.
Watching the yellow bi-plan I thought, this could be something out of a dream or movie where lovers crashed onto the desert, the wrecked plane carrying a woman which he now has to carry to a cave and eventually buried.

A Sacrament

 Become that high priest,  the bee. Drone your way  from one fragrant temple to another, nosing into each altar. Drink  what's divine— and while you're there, let some of the sacred cling to your limbs. Wherever you go  leave a small trail  of its golden crumbs.  In your wake  the world unfolds  its rapture, the fruit of its blooming. Rooms in your house fill with that sweetness your body both makes and eats.              —Paulann Petersen 

Every night it circles around
We park our words next to each other
Hoping to catch spirits in flight
Holding patterns
Runways too short to clear
Every night circles about me
In quiet destitute
Waiting for signals to land

These hands have a memory of it's own
They remember the thin belt around your waist
They hold as our bodies shifted to music and rhythm
These memories are recast into dreams
Years later I dream that I danced