You searched the categories for: 'cloud',
Mockingbird
what could there be, worse,
than shaking off the black dog
on the sunniest of singing, birded,
mocking spring days
I looked for you to come out from behind the clouds again
your hair waving like jettisoned energy
into the dark, trailing spirals,
matter,
into the blind
void of life, imagination
potential
spring.
The sky burnt, the clouds hung,
the sun shot,
the sea moaned, the cliffs fell,
the sand shrank...
the rocks were dumb
I was not.
You ceased.
Even the air failed and died.
