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A Passing Thing by Siddhartha Menon


Art by Neethi

In fact it isn't

a visitant from outer space

understaying its welcome

or flaring through our atmosphere

in a final brilliancy.


This is high, slow and orderly

with two short plumes that merge to a tail

so white against the blue

so straight in its arc

that it must represent something.


That taper is petal smooth

inaudible and inexorably

slowing to a shimmer as it closes on

the unsurprisable granite ridge

with the one pin-like tree.


Then it is over.

The sky shows no trace

a swallow does irregular cartwheels

off the darkening canopy

as an ant picks its way on sand.

 
 
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