A Poets Searches for Words
June 7 2022
Dark, heavy, menacing?
Not the blue sky cloud
of plush animals, and unicorns
you once confected,
lying in a grassy field
looking up at the sky
on endless afternoons
in the hot July torpor.
The sun blotted out
a leaden sky.
A chilly wind,
and big drops of rain
slanting down hard.
It's all cliche, these clouds;
nothing original to say.
So I imagine a dry sand desert,
and perfect sky
out to the stratosphere.
Hard to believe
how thin this atmosphere is
between us
and the airless vacuum
of outer space.
The cold black cosmos,
inconceivably vast
and expanding as fast as light.
No storms there,
no sun-showers
on summer days.
Just planets and asteroids
and interstellar dust.
Fabulous nebulae
and nascent stars.
The Magellanic Cloud.
No adjective grand enough
for even a poet
to plagiarize.
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