Flight Of The Hindenburg Poem by nathan martin

hydrogen speckeled pair of eyeglasses,
watching from a distance.

high.. high above the weather vain.

chance of rain, chance of windowpane...elegance.

slim chance of hindenberge smoldering,
the embers falling down in ethereal glory.

wheels and wings of the cherubim burning,
falling all around.

that must have been what it felt like
to be an icon.

in that moment luck should have it
the wind shifted.

second year of la nina and
the fire fly zeppelin breathes
into the open field.