poem

 Clouds Like Blankets

The low dark clouds are pretty cool,

I guess, in that faintly ominous

But ultimately harmless sort of way.

It’s Ohio, the sun likes to hide.

By noon the sky is a high cerulean blue

And all that’s left of the cold morning dew

Clings to the canvas and laces of old shoes

I’ve tossed in a heap in a corner of the foyer, 

Collapsed together like penitent hands. 

I would pray:

For more rain

For peace of mind 

For less ankle pain

For longer days

A life not so bereft

A life less inane

For the power to wrap oneself in clouds 

When October sun isn't enough.

But what’s the use;

The morning is gone

The clouds have drifted away.

Everything succulent dries out

Like fallen December leaves

Scuttling across the concrete

Before the first deep snow  

10/3/21