Some planes get those contrails so high up.
Don’t quite know the science behind it,
maybe it has something to do with rocketing gasses crystalizing in the airless atmosphere,
maybe it’s simpler than that,
simple as molecules exploding to dust in the jetstream of their creator,
lost in the epmtiness of the ozone.
That theory is where I feel the most resonance.
It vibrates through my bones that
I am that stream of white streaking
across the blue of the sky,
cutting and nicking pure and bright through the small reflective
wavelengths that color
showing the purity of the bleeding sky,
showing the cold of frosty air to the local towns,
showing that inside a human is an endless
ability to spread,
become one with the world again,
freeze -crystalize- and melt into a shower
of atmospheric wishes,
the stuff of stars almost set to escape,
now, once again, anchored to the body,
to the earth.