Amelia, Landing

Flying along the line of sun
I slice the sky, determined, metal.
Over the water, low-lying clouds,
flat, dark, that mimic unmapped islands.
Or I mistake misty islands for the shadows
of clouds. So many, dotted like pearls.
Above me, beautiful empty azure.

I feel I’m traveling to the dock
of before. I must be on you but
cannot see you. Fuel is running low.
Electra through the clouds parts
not-my-own shadow but earth, trees,
a wrecked steamer, signs of near
distant, near future habitation.