From My Window on the Plane

You look like nothing more than mere ridges
From the distance where my seat is now at,
And the small twigs I see must be bridges,
Crossing over where the water was spat.
The ground is covered with powdered sugar,
Enticing me with this earthly dessert.
If I could just reach down with my finger,
I could taste the confectionary dirt,
But the breeze blows in the cotton candy,
Obscuring my view of what is below.
I hold in my head, those dreams, so dandy
Of the plane’s cooking television show.
During my trip, it is hard to compete
With the view I see from my window seat.