(In August 2018, airport employee Richard Russell, who had no prior flight experience, entered an empty plane, took off, flew around, performed some aerial maneuvers, vomited, spoke his final words, and crashed into a small island in the Puget Sound.)

Astrophysics notwithstanding, you rubberneck when
something beyond your black, frigid window punches
through the inkblot vault, a bristling wraith who winks,
enters, silently at first, harsh and primitive, never to
ripen into a planet, but shimmers, dilates, tumbles head
over heels as you trace the arc of its westerly bank, until,
in full moon voice, you ask, “Hey pilot guy, can this thing
do a backflip, you think?” before one final loop-the-loop.