Young Travelers

There is still some mystique of travel,
Some exquisite danger that requires affirmation
Of arrival. The thought of the plane
Twisting in the air like a fan;
The sharks circling the paralyzed boat
Anchored an impossible distance from the sun.
Even the monotony of the car crash,
Glass burning, bubbling in the wind:
The thought of the body eternally
Cut from its intended destination.

And so we go out into the world
And the old pray for us.
For a moment, we are pioneers again
Feeling the memory of the unknown,
The ghost of the undiscovered
Shivering each foot of the usual journey.