Cloud

the enormous black apparatus

lies still

sleeping with

a thousand bitter shadows

never recalling

the delirious rust sky

and lazy purple wind

pounding, singing, whispering

a quick storm beneath

Rural Town II

She grew up in a place where the wind sang at night and

Oppressed inhabitants during the day

With vigor and slight cruelty

But sometimes she would remember the damp southern grass crawling on her skin

And fireflies dancing in sticky summer heat

With fondness for the backbone of her suburban dreams

Running Home at Night

running home in heels with the pleasant floating of the hour and bearable ticking of days

she always knew unrequited emotion would result in a loneliness that beats against all sense so

she was receding with the distance

losing her patience in the thick tropical forests between them

it was a predictable resignation, between unfamiliar canyons and a picturesque second of the day

she imagined he had a magical sunshine encircling him

silken hair dying in a meaningless wind of fascination

so she met the sunrise on the cafe patio with a cigarette

later in the day as she sipped iced tea

she decided

his ghost could remain in those forests and

she would not be there at the airport when he returned