up ahead, east,
an isolated rain
cloud bruised
beneath its glowing
white peaks drops
a wash
of ink that doesn’t
touch down, just
floats, like me,
indefinitely
2011
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on Sunday, March 13th, 2011 at 7:39 pm and is filed under 2011.
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I must admit I have a soft spot for virga. Hell, it’s the only rain we get most of the time. Gorgeous poem, great rhythm. I’ve been reading it aloud, by myself, which if you think about it, is kind of like the poetic version of virga, never landing anywhere.
thank you for teaching me the name of this cloud…and for handing a prose poem right back to me in your comment. I’m missing your blog. I check it a couple times a week for new posts. No pressure. (Ok, I am pressuring you just a little.) Give us some more words and photos, please!
Wow, the weeded has been busy in her garden. Riding of a thistle or two. Mayhap even finding a new sprout. This Weader is most intwegued.
Ok his was supposed to say the Weeder and ridding. A little too mucho auto correct. Massive rue on me part.