Over

Blue and orange, the lights of St. Louis.
I was there once on a layover.
Today it's nonstop. It's all over.

The day, the wait (weight), glimmers
for change. The dry martini takes
over, at 32,000 feet.

I'm over the Rockies
with their usual turbulence.
And the night goes—

Success, I've heard,
is to rebegin. It's time.
I've heard this too.

To weigh in the mind what's to be missed.
They fly high over the scale
against my grievances—which are over—

This is another waiting—
a descent over the west
for heat on the pavements.