vapour trail
down along the snowbound lane
I see the tracks your car left
already thaw-blurring
like the vapour trails we watched
yesterday
necks arching
as parallel jet-lovers
arose in silence
from behind the mountain
coasting across blue-bitter skies
later their narrow white plume streams
peeled apart
draped and drifted
softened into paths
as fat and rippled
as the wake of a summer rowing-boat
your tyres have compacted this slush
I stoop to gather a tread-mark pebble of ice
and another
and another
store them carefully in a pocket
as if they will not melt
Ted Eames, 2019