On a Flight to Nevada
And so, the sun will wait
to set for me
but the city won’t wait to miss
the last show, the closing hour.
A wind will ring again
the leaves slowly bloom
the mountain laurel opens pink
at the tall ridges we
climb, slowly between naps
the city keeps growing, hindering
the proper evolution of man
which means I have been too
busy for loneliness.
What have we forgotten to look for
in our rush to notice first?
The speed and entangled manner of
technology that keeps us preoccupied to live?