White contrails of a jet,
Slide across the sky
And vainly struggle to maintain their identity
Rather than be absorbed by the drifting clouds.
For a moment, they boldly reflect the subtle sheen
Of the setting sun before dissipating into
The otherness of the clouds.
The pilot is clearly oblivious
To the plight of his pets –
Surely the jet’s offspring belong to him too?
But the pilot doggedly continues his flight
Away from the sunlight, towards the growing darkness.
My heart breaks for him,
That he should be on the edge of heaven,
And not see such a beautiful sunset.
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