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Vapour Trails

Staring up at pure blue from down on earth, we see them shining in the firmament, the jets, the contrails, gliding back and forth like deep sea fish, soundless and innocent. Their exhaust particles and frozen vapours show us, graphically, cause and effect: in the silver bullet-nosed jets, the cause; in trails like spinal x-rays, the effect. It only takes a trigger, a single flight in childhood, for example, early trauma, to stretch the bare bones of the aftermath into a lyric void beyond the finite and knowable, a via negativa cruising at altitude on plumes of breath.

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