with your photographs of kitty hawk
and the biplanes on your wall
you were always amy johnson
from the time that you were small. no schoolroom kept you grounded
while your thoughts could get away
you were taking off in tiger moths
your wings against the brush-strokes of the day
on the tarmac with the winter in your hair
by the empty hangar doors
leave the oil-drums behind you
you wrapped me up in a leather coat
and you took me for a ride
we were drifting with the tail-wind
when the runway came in sight
the clouds came up to gather us
and the cockpit turned to white
i suppose you never saw the landing-lights
in your jacket with the grease stain and the tear
caught up in the slipstream of the dare
the compass rose will guide you anywhere
the sun comes up on icarus as the night-birds sail away
and lights the maps and diagrams
as they bank above the fields
you can join the flying circus
you can touch the morning air against your wheels
do you have a thought for me that you can share?
oh i never thought you'd take me unawares
just call me if you ever need repairs