I was told it would be different this time but it still bothers me so many jet trails in the sky I'm seeing more and more and more of them every day now I can still think of something else if I close my eyes and shut my mouth and press my palms over my ears and pretend I'm stone the coldest hardest stone that can't feel anything can't feel the sunlight on it can't feel the ant hesitating on its tapping trek across can't even feel the tickle of a drop of moon rain trickling slowly down the hard cold grey slope its progress a beaded magnification of the surface it slides across in and out of pits gliding up fissures like a thermometer dropping finally off an edge dropping down through the sky past the jet trails bouncing off my scalp crooking down my forehead along my nose rolling between my lips tastes like ether.