From An Airplane - Iris Dement

Versts by the hundred, miles
by hundreds, hundreds
Of dim kilometers beneath our track:
Reaches of salt marsh, feather
grass that billowed;
Beyond, the somber cedar
groves showed black.

As though, for the first time I saw my country.
And, with a pang of recognition, knew:
It is all mine—and nothing can divide us,
It is my soul, It is my body, too.