We Are Pilots

We cannot fly planes
But in our minds
We are pilots

Mapping out our ways
Through strings of islands
And lazy days

Amidst azure skies
And over turquoise seas
Or mountains ranged

Like sleepy pillows
Between cushioned countries
In pastel shades.

Over the maps
Our fingers loop the loop
We holler and whoop

Past Germany and Spain
Through Africa and
Across Bahrain

Alongside India and Vietnam
So experienced
A pilot, I am

Swoop down to
New Zealand
In one swift motion;

From there
We set forth,
Across the Pacific Ocean.