Growing Up Under The Ghosts Of Lax Or Angel Song Or Fiery Wasp Poem by Michael Veremans

An airplane flew slowly across the horizon
And it looked like an angel, or a fiery wasp.
Its wings spread against the sky,
Towards the sea amidst columns of grey smoke.

I saw this vision on the skyline
Swooping in, buzzing, roaring to the ground
So slowly and gracefully,
But frantic in perspective.
Its legs drag across the sand tops
Of those hills (butterfly sanctuary) ,
Frightening and great in its way…

To hives and terrible hubs
With electricity buzzing and
Stingers worn on lapels;
Yellow and black before its
Haze of flame.

It floats softly and down
With the whir of the wind,
Blinking out warnings
To the clouds and swimmers.
Kissing some weeds,
It sent off blue wings glowing
In an air of fragile beauty…

Carrying swooning spirits
In reverent reference
To the stars and light;
Following the sun just until
It dipped from sight and memory.

A vision of frantically fluttering wings—
A vision of gently pulsing wings—
Like every day set a vision free
Shadowing over the sand and sea.