V. Airborne   Twice a quarter of the planet split us; We were as you asked for one long week— Alone. My luggage spiked with gifts, Remembrances, as the airplane lifts, Bearing me away, I read the poems again, I seek Through jumbled papers for the bear, fuss Over its book-flattened fur, eat the sweets I didn't want—a silly Eucharist, not meal— And write letters, poems, trying to keep real Your presence at my side. The one who meets The airplane hears your name at once, Sees your picture soon, ships the pile I've gathered you, another's work of months, Stateside, to your door, head shaking all the while.