upon leaving the cascade-siskiyou national monument and flying into chicago:

There is first, cloud so thick
you begin to feel fear seeping up
through your toes. And then
light, sky orange and violet,
no matter the time.
And your thoughts, tangled
in telephone wires. You realize
that to live in this flat country
you must first redeem it.
So you say, hazy skies,
I redeem you, and flat land,
I redeem you, and old friends, sad
families, I redeem you.
And it doesn't help, not really,
but at least it's something, some
tiny salvation pulsing
at the tip of your tongue.