is my favourite hour

and today

the cirrocumulus clouds

and aeroplanes trails

shine livid white

like scars on a face.

I count them with pride,

wondering which trail is yours,

hoping you looked down

and waved

as the speed of flight

and goodbye whisked you away

to a home without names.

In all honesty,

it is unlikely

any of the sky dust

belongs to you,

I like to imagine

you took another route;

to avoid having to imagine

seeing my face

for one last time.


© Kristiana Reed 2018

5 thoughts on “Cirrocumulus

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