The skies are calling

A white plume bisects the sky

linear vapor between sun and moon.

Purple baguette clouds pepper the west

silhouetted by the sun’s parting rays.

Eastward the moon high and brilliant-

tonight’s beacon.


Inaudible are the jet’s engines

yet palpable it’s trail

a stark outline of beauty on both sides.


As dusk cedes to dark

much like the sky

I don’t feel so blue.


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