Contrail

Against a virginal blue

That had banished the final efforts

Of the predawn darkness,

A single white line lay insult upon the morning’s perfection.

Initially, the contrail appeared stationary,

Mimicking the despondent flags that

Found no breath that might lift their spirit,

A slim, muscular, sculpture pointing north.

With infinite patience this singular object

Began to soften and expand along its entire length,

As though in preparation for a struggle

Against the omnipresent, impenetrable blue sky.

In time, accompanied by the awakening of the banners,

And the return of life along the great arteries of commerce,

The white muscles were stretched

And became a comfortable companion to the overarching blue.