At night this city below
looks like any other
metropolis from above.
Bluish-white dots polka
the darkness, interrupted
by orange fractals, line-dancing.
Corpuscles red-and-white
course and clot anemically
along clogged arteries.
Two rivers scimitar the nightscape
below, as whooshing blades above
dervish to wing us westward.
But it is not just any other city,
this, and so we are hoping tonight
not to be shot down
Before we reach home.
Blessings and peace to one and all,
Fr. Tim, SJ
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