Read Poems by
Heathrow, in transit
The warmth of Nairobi in January is gone now.
Here it's cold and drizzly, a savannah
of tarmac and metal jumbos before me.
My natural rhythms have given way
to this soaring erratic chase of the sun.
But I return to warmth—the desert heat
of southern Arizona, and the ardent glow
of my heart when I hold you in my arms.