It's pouring now,
they say the dams are filling,
I raise my eyes to see
dark heavy clouds rush by,
but there is something more,
you left, with carry-on and nerves
I see your lovely lips deny
possession of sheer contraband,
you choose a window seat,
this time you do, you have a plan,
and when your bird flies over
and you see the tiny specs,
the beach and busy boats
you raise your hand and wave,
and thirty thousand feet below,
I stand, and nod, and wave,
and know you may not see me now,
but we can see the wake behind,
of condensation in the sky,
though few would know the origin,
it is the trail between your heart
and mine.