at piarco it was raining

you look down from the plane at the sight
familiar from the map of the country below
across the island there's a steady glow
of house and street lamps banishers of night
you're headed south the last stage of the flight
minute after minute the time seems to flow
as you move towards a place you do not know
in hope of something fresh a new insight
not given to other travellers ahead more lights
signal the journey's end the new found place
where answers may be given and things learned
you wonder now what demons and what sprites
will rear up suddenly looking in your face
and asking whether your soul has been burned