Clouds and smoke
and jets and me.
Not really here
But not really gone either.

Clouds high and transient.
They waft above us
As we stare back.
Too high for mortal man.

Smoke, the smoldering
Remains of what one was,
But is no more.
Now, it stretches for the
Sky in one last attempt
At elegance, now gone.
But, it has all passed
Beyond the recollection
Of mortal men,
Only a heartbeat after fading.

Like clouds, the jets
Are transient, constantly
Moving, but never recognized
As anything apart from
The crystals and their
Evidences, the ribbons
Of vapor left on the
Sky's carpet.

I am neither here nor there.
An ancient soul in a modern body.
The remnant of
A forgotten age,
Yet I still exist in the present,
Caught between what the
World is and what it once was.