A perfect day, standing on the train platform to go home,
the late evening sun golden as a dragon's treasure,
when an earth-ending roar shifts eyes to the sky and
there to humble all,
the Concorde takes off from Heathrow,
almost straight up, its edges haloed by the light.
Beauty on wings.
In a few months this magnificent,
never to be bested machine of optimism,
will fly no more.