contrails

by JIM LEWIS

be scientific, be intellectual

lecture me on cirrus aviaticus
how hot exhaust and particulates
condense and dance and disperse
over seconds, minutes, days, weeks—
tickle my brain with explanations
of contrail climate change

be magical, be mysterious

whisper to me how the ghosts
of every airline disaster
float behind those jets
billowy white fingers reaching
stretching for miles
clawing their way aboard

be ignorant, be earthbound

explain to me how you never once
look up to see those water lines
raking fingernails across a chalkboard sky
never bother with things so far away
when each spring’s preoccupation
is that the creek will rise too high
flooding out the garden sprouts
each summer is spent fretting
that it will run too low
and all the corn will wither

be lyrical, be poetic

write lines that catch my breath
before i exhale into winter air
my own vapor trail that marks
if only for an instant
my passage through your life