Thirty-five hundred feet above the earth， I said goodbye

    to the heartland with its musk¹ of animals and alfalfa，

    to the Coralville Reservoir and its wounded

    peregrine falcon² with the dusky blue feathers，

    to the lattice of pastures interlaced like Celtic spirals，

    full of pink-snouted spotted³ pigs and overflowing⁴ corncribs，

    to the cemetery⁵ with its black angel and tombstones

    engraved⁶ with contemporary memento⁷ mori——

    Garfield the cat， a pack of Marlboros， a Corvette——

    instead of death's heads and winged cherubs⁸.

    We flew farther——saw the golden dome⁹ of the Maharishi

    levitating¹⁰ and the barges¹¹ on the Mississippi marking twain.

    And hard by my hip¹²， my pilot star， your long fingers

    controlled the ailerons， practicing skid¹³ and slip，

    Touch and go， bank and stall， keeping a steady hand

    as we flew beyond the bounds of the artificial horizon.

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