Touch N Go

Sitting back, strumming a song, in isle 26. Everyones already disembarked the plane. I´ve still got laces of heaven interwoven in my fabric and my pockets are stuffed with wild Jerusalem sage. I try to take her with me wherever I go, even here and now, in this touch and go.
I slide my tattered passport, the one that got washed in the Jordan, to a lady who teaches customs at the airport. She reaches out her hand and slides it through the glass window, bringing my my travel logged stamp collection to her nose. Eyes closed. She takes a long slow breath in as shes smelling where I´ve been
A knowing smile comes to her face and shes transported from her cubist space
She stairs me dead eyed in the face and then lets me go...
Though I´d love to stay a while longer in this particular flow
Im here today but it´s a touch and go
It´s 98 degrees inside and outside.
A short dark skinned farmer with a glass eye and a machete stands beneath a mango tree and recounts a brave El Salvadorian revolution.
Rice and beans and Chile sauce where catle have right of way.
Yesterday I was a drop of water in a puddle of cudle in the Upper West Side. The day before, across an ocean, in a city of gold.
To and fro Touch n Go.
Teacher once taught that this you must know ¨To discover new oceans one must loose sight of the land, Kick out your feet from under the sand" I guess thats what you might call my some sort of plan.