Smoke rises
Like white fluid
Through the blue void
Of its invisible seam
A speck of a plane
Like a needle pointing south
Stitches the Northern blanket
In a straight line
One cloud diminishes into air
Transparent and there
It evaporates
Another plane passes
Cirrus or susurrus
Is certainly not citrus
In taste nor color;
It only shapes
other heavenly formations
diffused across the cold blue…
okay, back to
class!
Wow! I like the closing.
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