Flying Home

Touch ground, briefly, hopeful of
connections possible at best,
having soared but briefly, too briefly,
held hopeful within your arms
so far ahead, seen only from reverse, yet
out there, held up, in sweet envisionings,
memories yet to come.
Come to me -- come home, I hear you say it,
feel the silk of your gray hair so fine between us,
all the warmth absorbed, smooth.
You say to me, come home, it's nothing,
fly to me, come home to us, touch down,
touch down, just a few more times today.
We wait,
we 've waited, and we're here,
here to guide you in,
ride through on our certainty.
We will not,
will not
let you down.