Testudo Anima

I flew over a vastness of sand, ancient ocean withdrawn, dessicated desert, neither eternal nor pathetic, snow dusted, the foot of the Hindu Kush, even now, as we humans, such knotted desperate pieces of work, loving disorder, our root cause of violence, livid hatred for truth, stare balefully at each other, as the g-force of a turn, presses me into red webbing, chop chop of thick air, shadow light patterned flitting, across cargo and armor, all the knowns and unknowns, our desperate finite time, meaning all and yet nothing, when the thwap of a wheel touches down, sharp whistl'd adrenaline, quick glance at smudged shadows, dwelling in the corners of our eyes, like dark chaperones, always at life's dance, waiting for the music to stop... and briefly I think on the strangeness of it all, a vague sadness soon fills me, with what could be but is not, all of us flawed sinners, wannabe saints, too much nightsoil under fingernails, as ringing and shouts, snapping rounds like hail on tin roofs, with a head ringing weirdly with quotes, from braver souls than I, who think those fortuitous, who endure life with courage, while I just shiver behind, duty and gun oil, and wonder how someone, can know another to their core, and still love them, truly... and the dust tastes of copper and time.