sonnet

Just up ahead, the clouds stand in the way,
Obstruct the path we take through footless halls
of air. They tower there as if to say
“Let man and plane take heed what e’er befalls
Within, for there the dark and wind will tear
The wingman from the lead, dissect the flight,
Ignore the plight of formation. Beware!”
I stare at lead, his rocking wings catch sight,
The wordless signal to rejoin. My heart,
it skips a beat. My breath is shallow, fast.
I guide my aircraft there, three feet apart
From wing to wing, just as the shadows cast
Our flight into the dark. The only thing
I see — through bouncing sheets of rain — his wing.