flying over a country makes you feel nostalgic if you've done it before
just knowing you're there above all the greens and all the blues
all the people you've once met but will never see again
whilst they gaze at the morning sun

you have pierced the clouds;
which appear like the peelable skin
on the top of a warm glass of milk

awaiting the turbulence and turmoil
and to rejoin the masses
in their stagnant curdle