Crossings Poem by Joseph Martin III
Crossings
Piercing through darkness
with the icy Atlantic waters
35,000 feet below,
coach-crammed but excited,
I watched the screen overhead
and the small colored dot,
plotting the course
from there to there.
Eleven years of places and faces
have since passed and are still passing,
crossings and more crossings,
but now I no longer watch colored dots.
9/5/2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/28/2026 6:10:33 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
