Which Is Which? Poem by Morgan Michaels

Contrails and distrails-
which is which,
and which is this,

You may wonder,
of the two?
I do.

The fleecy-pale
water droplet trail
melting in evening's blue-

piebald-orange-pink,
(as if the world were going up in flames
around the brink,)

hauled by a jet
hurtling toward night
rapidly proceeding out of sight

like the white traces
made by the scraper
on water-color paper? ;

Or those blue burrows
the turbine furrows
cleanly in cloud?

Contrails, distrails,
I can never keep you straight.
And though it's late

Mean to learn:
Which is who
before I hit the light.