Poem: His Fading Contrails

A photo of the field behind my house I took on Saturday.

My latest original five-line poem. Stumbled across an apropos song to listen to while crafting this one:

Oh future, stop crying
Today there’s life on earth may be dancing around all of us
Well tomorrow’s only dying
And our love
It can’t find you there
At the dawning

His Fading Contrails

sometimes when i see the fog hovering over morning grass like a spaceship,
i want it to take me up to the pink clouds, leave everything else behind,
but i know my contrails will follow me like exhaust of a different kind,
and the world below will dawn tin foil hats to explain not my absence,
but in fervent devotion to the god of ascendancy, praying to take them, too.

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