Vapor Trail by JD DeHart

Vapor Trail

following the path
of what has been left behind
a brief memory
splash or flock of memories

there was a wooden
ship, the biggest toy imaginable,
so big it was not a toy,
but it was treated like one

the smell of smoke,
a confluence of ash trays

there was an old man
like a father, but not a father,
the memory of his death now
lost, an old lady who might
or might not have been sane

there was rain, an uncomfortable
time, digging a grave,
feet splashing in mud

that's where the vapor
becomes wisp and disappears
with nothing but a name
barely used anymore.

JD DeHart is a writer and teacher.  He blogs at


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