Artificial Horizon

    to the heartland with its musk of animals and alfalfa，

    to the Coralville Reservoir and its wounded

    peregrine falcon with the dusky blue feathers，

    to the lattice of pastures interlaced like Celtic spirals，

    full of pink-snouted spotted pigs and overflowing corncribs，

    to the cemetery with its black angel and tombstones

    engraved with contemporary memento mori——

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

    instead of death's heads and winged cherubs.

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

    levitating and the barges on the Mississippi marking twain.

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

    controlled the ailerons， practicing skid and slip，

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

    as we flew beyond the bounds of the artificial horizon.