Poem #11- Trajectories

16.03.24

Bluest skies.

Two planes

Slowly merging.

Chemtrail clouds

Of dead

Air, falling

Apart. Coming

Together. Gull

Sounds, screeching.

Calling, of

Home. Of

The blue.

Cross forms,

Imperfect angle

Yet sublimely

Present against

The blue.

Mimicry of

Clouds. A

Bite of

My toast,

I am

Lost now

In these

Feelings. The

Buzzing. The

Chirping. The

Whirring. The

Distant engines

Grating away

At this

Blue. This

Cool morning

Air, so

Pure. So

Missed. More

Missed in

Winter than

You'd imagine.

A sip

Of bitter

Coffee, a

Pander, and

The lines

Are gone.

People on

Their own

Way. But

Another plane

Whirrs still.

More trajectories

Are to

Be made

Within this

Endless blue.