we watch it plop
up again and again
all saffron spin
all lozenged hope
all miracle-raised
invisible string prop.
it slow simmer singes
a waking sky while
you and i try to make
something of its hazy
smoke.
is it the dot on a question
mark caught by curious
sky?
is it a scar
-let apostrophe
simply stumbling by?
are there more
below the horizon,
all ellipsis’d in a stack,
and if we blow it
all dandelion-like,
will it come drifting back?
it’s all a blur, a skystone
slur we can’t wedge into
words. and so we stop
asking and just sit here
basking,
knowing it will
catch fire again tomorrow.
::
In April, we poem.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 