Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Lucid Monday

Smoke rises
Like white fluid
Through the blue void
Of its invisible seam

A speck of a plane
Like a needle pointing south
Stitches the Northern blanket
In a straight line

One cloud diminishes into air
Transparent and there
It evaporates

Another plane passes

Cirrus or susurrus
Is certainly not citrus
In taste nor color;
It only shapes
other heavenly formations
diffused across the cold blue…
okay, back to class!


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