A row of blue lights against two rows of white. The earth can rise up without warning when you’re thinking of other lovers. Back home in the light of the covers, the warmth of sheets, and the soft smell of the lamps. The love in his mind is a love for all times.

The airport is a cold white metal moving through clouded glass. Plastic tunnels from one reality to another. Or a fantasy back home, or the other way around. Moving between thought, flight, fiction, love, and the death of a father.