The blast skims
over the string
of takeoff lights
and
relinquishing
place and time
lofts to
separation:
the plume, rose
sliver, grows
across the
high-lit evening
sky: by this
Mays Landing creek
shot pinecones,
skinned huckleberry
bush, laurel
swaths define
an unbelievably
particular stop.
Elegy For A Jet Pilot
A. R. Ammons
(1)
Poem topics: rose, sky, time, evening, place, high, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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