Planes scratching the sky with white lines of ejection,
as they travel the world.
Currents of air, flowing billowing lines, spreading them
out like cotton candy in the hands of a child.
Drawings being driven by pilots flying their jets all
over the world, creating artistic masterpieces that last
only minutes and then are gone forever.
Every journey scratching the sky with it's moment of
glorious art, using white lines of ejection as they go
about their ways and lives.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem