Over the playing fields
 of my highschool
 the airport grew,
 step by inexhorable step,
 through the years.

 I still remember
 running like the wind
 in field games,
 the smell of earth
 and sweat.

 On takeoffs
 I run with the plane
 and lift it by simple thought
 up, up over the ghosts
 on the playing fields.
 On landings
 I settle on the earth,
 as when,
 exhausted,
 after grand effort
 I lay breathless
 on the ground.