Flight Back to Pittsburgh

I don't care for flying.
I often describe a plane
	As a bus with wings,
	And an unpleasant feeling in my ears.

But as we slowly climb
	through solid clouds.
Flying is an act of faith: 
	Below the clouds there is still a world
		on which the plane can land.
Then we break
	Through the clouds and look down
at a pearly surface gently undulating
	and variably glowing.

I look up
	at a higher cloud layer,
		with blue peeping through the light gray.

On the horizon,
	a band of blue,
		is streaked with darker shades.

Somehow,
	these variegated layers
			help me believe in the planet below. 
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