How Was Your Vacation

Beyond my frosty oval window
the sun ignites the horizon.
Rings of red, orange, and yellow
stack toward the sapphire blue sky.

Below me,
ephemeral rolling hills
covered in soft, white snow
are altered or diminished
by a wispy breeze blowing
blowing between them.

A wistful, exasperated breath
fogs up my vision.
Wiping the glass clean,
the cloudscape changes:
A great opaque
canopy of snow covered trees
too high for even the birds.

Packed into a corporate jet,
I chase the sunset,
awaiting the electronic bell
that tells me I’m almost home.
But home is not the destination

I desire.

I desire to have my arms
wrapped around a woman,
on other side of a customs checkpoint,
where neo-gothic architecture replaces
the neo-classical of my capital.
Where the autumn blushes, while
My humid home autumn barely touches.
Where the wind is cold, yet invigorating,
while my home’s ocean gale
threatens to knock me over.

I fulfilled my end of the bargain,
I traveled thousands of miles
to look upon her, to embrace her,
but return unfulfilled.
A hospital room,
only miles from my destination

—(Or a lie)—

barred me,
the way a customs agent could not.
A castle wall I could not scale.

The cloudscape’s boundary
looks more like a snowy berm
caressing a dark, airy void.
Lights shine and blink
From the airy depths
as the fires along the horizon fade
to deep blue,
and then black.

Dark Clarity.
Home is not far now.

My sadness will be lessened here.
In her hometown,
I wandered, alone, to places she frequents.
Such places would hold more wonder
with her present.
In my empty beach town
the ghost of her does not haunt,
although I do.

The sea will keep me company.
but, on clear nights, I will seek out
the celestial bears that point me north
and sigh with deep longing
if she thinks of me.

She, at least, knows
I will cross the world
For her.
For now, that must be enough.

Copyright 2016 © C .J. Staryk