contrails paint an invisible sky
one by one the cities fall
blackened by fire and ice
falling from the heavens
late night broadcasts
capture angels
as floating globes of light
escorting lost souls
to their next destination
once the airings cease
those alive in the countryside
watch in amazement
the setting sun consuming
what was left behind
dawn and twilight
become but an abstract idea
the moon and stars and planets
mere memories burned
deep within the naked eye
a nearby stream and crickets
can be heard at certain times
young ones sprinting wildly
as an occasional rocket
blasts off yet another spacecraft
january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
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