Elegy For A Jet Pilot By A. R. Ammons

The blast skimsover the stringof takeoff lightsandrelinquishingplace and timelofts toseparation:the plume, rosesliver, growsacross thehigh-lit eveningsky: by thisMays Landing creekshot pinecones,skinned huckleberrybush, laurelswaths definean unbelievablyparticular stop.