here in a hangar
in oppressive…stagnant air
I pay a visit where above me
dust motes sift to aircraft
there in suspended instants
of arrested flight
below these…parked…
in angled strategy
are salvaged planes
some with human names…
Jenny, George, Enola Gay
Genevieve and Nick
here is neatness…here is order
where no black oil drips
to gray smooth pavement…
and battle disarray is washed
to near vanishing
my viewing hours are ending
and visitors are few…
sound is muffled
here where laughter bursts
are sparse as merriment
in a funeral home
I take a final look above me
and movement blurs my sight…
where barn swallows swoop
and dip and glide and slip and bank…
and amplify regret
bonnie marshall
Proem... 
That is a perfect final line; it’s the kind of line that takes me back to the beginning of the poem, and leaves me pondering layers of meaning.
You’re an exceptionally observant reader, Sally.