On waking, I heard no sound,
but noted, at five a.m.,
through a brightening window,
the long, slow, shallow descent –
a white tube of night fliers;
a package of people
pleased to return
to Birmingham International
as the rising sun
shattered the horizon.
On my left, in bed five,
I heard Colin’s struggled cough
in his long, slow, shallow descent
in a bed with rails
and with tubes, night-flowing –
a packaged patient
pleased to return
to Birmingham Heartlands
as the rising sun
split the cloud asunder.
