A vapour trail, it moved across the moon
as the moon rolled from east to west
at rain-cleansed dusk. A comet’s tail,
a skinny streak of cloud, yet seeming
far too narrow and too vertical.
Trick of the light?
The light was fading fast.
A tapering waterfall
of smoke, it plunged
thinly from the zenith of the sky
to nadir on a mountainous horizon.
Tornado came crazily to mind
until, a slender tower, it drifted east,
flattened then broadened out,
ruffled at the edges, banded
purple and amber like a razor shell,
became diaphanous, almost dissolved —
and all the while the motion of the moon,
the motion of the earth and of the moon.
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