Skyline Maverick

Beneath wide clouds he waits, visor cold and still, A helmet cradled close, the runway holds its breath. Above, the jet climbs hard, a black and burning will, And daylight rings the air like sharpened steel of death. His jacket folds in shade, his jawline set in calm, The desert hums in heat, a pale and distant sea. He listens for the roar that wakes the sky to psalm, Then steps into the wind where only bold are free.