It is noisy at the airport at 6:00 am
The plane to New York promises to be full
The smell of perfume is think in the waiting area
I am sitting next to a Buddhist, wearing the saffron and
ochre robes
Of Gottama, of the philosopher, of St. Katherine
The crowd in the terminal are speaking in tongues
In the tongues of humankind, though undoubtedly
There are angels among us, a one-armed man walks past me
There is a ball of fire climbing over the horizon
Casting light on the moon in its fullness
There is a buzz of activity beyond the window
Flickering orange and red, and green
I am waiting patiently to take flight
