Black Box

—Air France Flight 447 crashed on June 1, 2009, killing all 228 people aboard.

evening fare to paris this poem departed years ago nosed
north over rio#s dark lagoon leaving home and coming home
eyes gleaned sea glimmer lungs filling with radio silence
dropped the rhythm cold in rough bump dark and disappeared


enduring glyphs drowned in grief ghostly jewelry and gold
nautical ballroom glittering glamour adorns the fuselage
we#ll beo
equatorial search for these rio de janeiro to paris people
dropped invisible on the atlantic#s ocean ridge submerged


each of the two#hundred and twenty#eight climbers engulfed
no sherpas to guide the basalt peaks or summit the surface
c c
d d
eighty#eight parameters decorate the sky of black box code
decode the eighty#eight constellations and live unheavened


examine debris spread on a flat earth black plastic world
needle and dig for worn out phrases for metaphor misfire
flying aboveo
ear pressed to the sky beholder eye you#re on thick ice
drop the hot engines and the cold pitot no wind to upload


elegiac submarines glide beneath this poem image equipped
numb bodies filmed in crash position fetal monks at peace
the cityo
everything is square camera in the carry on ok
don#t worry this is the best time of our life all packed

explore hunt the black box for black values  a b c d
never saved the data always goes down with the ship gone
of lighto
eager mouth of information sits wet and waits for a tongue
dumb tombstone a smooth face with only its guts engraved

engineered eclogues man machine speak dialogue undreamed
nidus a nurtured code the hatching of speed and altitude
you meo
evidence tells us nothing of passengers a final departure
denotes Putain, on va taper…C’est pas vrai!is their end

entire lives midair stories interrupted cannot be decoded
next we#ll be angels flying above the city of light you me
each woman and man day and dream arrival and departure
die in error# for these lost bits of us who will be blamed