He rode with his boots on the edge of the world,
One hand on the gun in the door.
A cigarette tucked in the band of his helmet,
A letter he’d read twice before.
Below him, the river unwound through the jungle,
The headset was hissing with rain.
He lowered the lenses and leaned toward the darkness—
And something was matching their pace.
A leathery wing filled the mouth of the doorway,
A tail disappeared underneath.
It turned with the ship, never losing its distance,
Then opened its mouth full of teeth.
He squeezed till the belt shook hot through the weapon.
The thing didn’t falter or fall.
Then two more rose out of the red underneath him—
He couldn’t keep track of them all.
“Where are you firing?”
“Beside us! Right there!”
He lifted the lenses—
Rain in the air.
He dropped them again.
It was turning its head.
He stopped firing first.
It kept looking instead.
Red night vision,
Wings beside the door.
How long have you been flying there?
Have you seen us before?
He could count the folds along them,
He could see them catch the rain.
Then he lifted up the lenses
And the sky was dark again.
They sat him down under a bulb in the morning.
He followed a crack in the floor.
He tried to describe how it flew without effort,
How little it cared for the roar.
The coffee went cold while the questions got smaller.
He signed where they told him to sign.
Outside, someone laughed as an engine turned over.
He waited to hear it climb.
A man from the ground crew came by after supper.
He waited till they were alone.
“We’ve seen them down here at the edge of the timber.
Their arms hang too long for their bones.
You hear something calling from under the branches,
You’re certain it’s somebody hurt.
Last night we caught hold of a boy by his collar—
Already halfway through the wire.”
“What do they want?”
He stared at his hands.
Outside, the night shook
As the next flight began.
“Maybe the shooting.
Maybe the dead.”
Neither man finished.
The engine roared instead.
Red night vision,
Wings beside the door.
How long have you been flying there?
Have you seen us before?
He could count the folds along them,
He could see them catch the rain.
Then he lifted up the lenses
And the sky was dark again.
They issued green.
The wings were gone.
Same river below.
Same flight before dawn.
He watched another gunner
Laugh and lean outside.
He caught him by the harness.
“Keep your arms inside.”
Red night vision,
Wings beside the door.
Something flying close enough
To know what he was looking for.
Did we make the night safer?
Did they leave us in the clear?
Or change the glass until the things
Beside us disappeared?
The new man said,
“Nothing out there.”
He checked the harness.
“Keep it on.”