poem

Cloudy Morning

Sometimes the dreary cloudy morning

That augurs an afternoon deluge 

Is just what I need.

Don’t want to wake up

But can’t go back to sleep.

I’m already showered and out the door,

Driven to earn my daily bread.

The sky is an unmade bed

Of heaped up blankets and tousled comforters

That I reach for through the window.

I want to wrap myself in its sodden softness,

Float along in the gray unfallen

Rain straining at the edges of gaseous nothing.

Not because I’m cold or avoidant.

I just want to be cocooned, 

Cloaked in layers of billowing 

Obscurity just for one day.

The sun will appear tomorrow,

Or someday soon,

Amidst an infinite expanse,

So high and impossibly blue.

I’ll shed my coverings then

And emerge from the mists anew. 

5/2/21