It was the thick piled blanket of gray
that made the metaphor more simile today.
Cumulative as a collector of dew
indulges in a spendthrift rain of blue.
Cowering behind high pressure,
it may have been up in the air,
but it lay down on all in between,
nestled in nature.
Birds under-cover, the grass
fast asleep,
And audibly thick sound
envelopes
from gravity's position
I fathom
to scream
inside-it does not carry
you out
I doubt it was definitely only one
up there-
clapping-
cutting, stomping, sucking, sputtering,
interrupting frontal intersections
Slicing with a mallet, tendering with blades
heart beating to ear drums
a-long the gray highway
in-complete-dis-guys
two-way mirrors like
our eyes,
the other side of sound
surround
don't bother to look-
it was only one-
a passing Chinook
in the stealth of May.
Image of painting by James Ward, Sky Study [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
