The airplane coming from Baghdad
carries American soldiers
and rises up
and up
over the moon
reflected on the Tigris river
over clouds accumulated
like corpses
over an ancient harp
over skin stroked with hands
over kidnapped people
over ruins growing up with children
over long lines at the passport office
over the open lid of Pandora’s box.
The airplane
with its exhausted passengers
will land six thousand miles away
from that finger
amputated in the sand.