fifteen hundred miles

there's music through the airport crowd
like a butterfly amongst the clattering dandelions
and I have 1,500 miles of thought
and I see them stretching out
straight as the prairie

(if I glance up)
perhaps I'll see you instead of gray
perhaps your dancing has blown away the sullen tiles
to cast me into swirling sky

or perhaps I have 1500 miles of taupe
polite but empty miles
so I stare straight ahead
and try not to dream too brightly