Gauze Clouds, Rising

..
Oh, we’ve got ghosts. Smoke
screens and silence. Violence
in the streets and fences. But
hey, let’s watch these wisps,
will ourselves to scramble this
denim sky. Why not? These
thoughts are waning like that
old bone moon. Squiggle me
a song, Love. Patchwork me
some hope from my mama’s
old dress, my first communion
veil. The sails of a ship sent
to scrim my salt. A fencepost
totem. The tail of a sun
…………-swallowed kite.

 

..

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