The cloud corridor today is west to east
from the horizon upward, at an angle of 25
mostly single puffs of smoke, but occasionally doubles

Straight ahead, several miles away,
a low-lying wall of slightly darker cloud
sits stationary, visible above the trees

The sun, over to my right, will set in a few hours
It catches the corner of my eye
My lashes go prismatic

I can only guess at her age
but from her stoop and limp
she must be in pain

Lovely day today, she says
I wonder if she's noticed the rare happy buddha
sitting in my non-distended tummy

~ ~ ~


Before the rites
bonfire rites
old rag clothing
chucked to blessed pages
stretches back concave
to breathe
inhale all chapters

Inherent in weather
levels of desire
crack this ache to jagged
gutted, saw-tooth spikes
an equivocal communion
In some other world the sun makes magic

~ ~ ~