Horizons

I thought it would be like breaching the unstill surface for air.
I thought it would be like the one good thing the tinny phone voice ever tells me,
“Welcome to North Carolina”,
Echoed by the technicolor signs.
I thought it would be like turning off my purr-clank-purring engine,
Crossing the threshold
And setting down my heavy bags
To applause and a cold, sour drink.

The real horizon is not where blue paint meets green,
It is miles of empty sky.
It is deciding not to drink
So you can open your airways up.
It is walking away from the ebbing coastline
When you can only take with you what you can carry.
It is redefining rest while you can sit lazy-limbed
And missing the buoyancy of saltwater when you must travel.