Into Milwaukee: From a Plane

The sheen of the sun casts a 200 miles per hour
projected circle
Upon the glinting sapphire waters of the lake below
Where passerby only noticed the water,
frozen at its edges
By the winter's chill that seemed never to stay away
Now turning, the light becomes a monitor
Of a shoreline's worth of activity and preoccupation
Never ceasing in its progress, tirelessly retreating and
advancing
To all points and places fathomable
And scarcely remembering those it will always leave
behind.