The longest sunset
(a found poem)

I look back, toward the Chesapeake
a blue blush splits the sky blue pink
of the clouds kissed by Baltimore's evening sun.

I saw that sun this morning
broken into a fractal of waves
within waves
each forming and receding
itself, distinct for a moment before going back
to the mother ocean.

Now the sky ahead beckons
the light blue of civil twilight in St. Louis
as we fly high above the clouds
spread far below like a crinkled baby blanket
with a lone pink puff of cotton candy
catching the sticky summer sunset above.

I watch the staccato conversation
between two neighboring thunderclouds.
The cotton candy is now a glowing golden mesa.
A banking turn reveals a fiery red cloud
edged against a flat yellow sky.

The mesas are now snow-capped mountains
Popo and Izta, as if seen from Puebla.
Above them, a sliver of a waxing moon stands her watch.

A thin flat cloud divides the blue sky above
from the neon orange of the sunset
above a full sea of cottonball clouds
evenly dispersed.
Popo and Izta continue to erupt in intermittent lightning.