i.
Burnished arrows,
barely aloft—
how swiftly
the planes rise
beyond the roar
and thunder
of takeoff,
pixelate
skyward
into speck
and particle
ii.
The clerk
at Delta,
head lowered,
quietly
shuffles
the paperwork,
her voice
solicitous.
What’s worse
than losing
my father
is her thinking
it matters
more than
it does