As the
pressure builds
high and low confront,
trapping
in between them a compression and
depression, folded in thick layers.
A cumulus
of collective thoughts
gather gem-like crystalline
shards
that slice through thin air.
In a Doppler of cirrus
the
stratus changes, morphing into
unstable mutatus Mother clouds,
hovering,
heavy and thick with milk,
curdling and separating their wheys and way
lost,
aloft out of focus like mist and blur
ragged
ropes, pull and bind, fraying edges as taut by
knuckles under the pull of Virga.
Then-
letting
it all go,
unnoticed
into oblivion, minute like tears
reigning in sheets
down
Fallstreak holes
through the ceiling
that
bears an air of Nacreous ether up there, apart and
weighted by the moody swing fronts
of days
and nights.
The phases fade, leaving
traces
of birefringent dreams, seems like
floating behind the Fisher King and moon man,
who
overcast
his holy
net, his wind we felt
mingled
with water
we
breathe.
1st composed 8/5/15-edited multiple times.
Image By Sensenmann (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Clouds over Yucatan, Mexico.
