Night Flight

At night, he dons the mask, and closes tight his eyes. He pulls back on the stick, and heads up to the skies. The wind is whistling around the canopy. Besides the panel light, none far as eyes can see. His breathing’s somewhat forced, more than a little bit; He’s told it will take time to get the hang of it. He’s soaring through the clouds; he knows because the night, Once filled with points of light, is strangely opaque white. He smiles to think the fog is slowly rolling in, For that’s where dreams are found and difficulty ends. The autopilot set, he doesn’t fight the yawn. Then tipping to the east, looks forward to the dawn.