tell me true the topology of clouds
not the south, but the upper drifts the sun sees
and kneads across the heavens with winds
glacial-slow, an eventual avalanche forming valleys
cliffs and caves - a geography most will miss
staring so steadily at the ground
what phantom-hand nimbus molds these,
sculpting light into shapes
the dreams of mountains, rivers, oceans
flooding the heavens, where the wispy cirrus
are a curious circus of foam floating up high -
a shadow world whose transience races
from the ocean to the mountains
splashing against their sides with a percussive sigh
where the clouds cry with gold-eye sun shining by,
a friend on one side embraces only tears,
the other paints the rainbow
...
It's been a week since my last entry, and I've missed writing. I visited my great friends A and S, and it was impractical (and silly) to blog every night - though I did bring my journal - and so I just enjoyed my time with them as much as possible without bringing the baggage of writing regimen into my visit. I had a lovely stay, and I love and miss them very much, though it's good to be back. Wearing shorts and a t-shirt and getting on a plane and flying up into the blue sky and back down through the glum grey and the musical rain that races in little white chips across the airplane windows, and seeing my friends again (JS - yous guys the best), and enjoying a meal and Sherlock - yes, I miss my friends in California and a piece of my love is with them always, but this is home, and the northwest is where my heart would have me.
No comments:
Post a Comment