On my bed, I watch in silence as the airplanes weave in and out of the tree branches

in front of my window. They seem small and alien.

And when it gets dark, their lights flash across the sky,

marking out the wings and the tail against deep navy.

My eyes trace their paths through the frame of the glass, the screen, until they escape

from my sight, and then I start over with another one

like following ants marching across a sidewalk.

I count one two three four in my head, each plane, each set of flashing lights, and

in the quiet, beneath my blanket, my mind stills to quiet.