This cloud line of blackened stripes is
floating above a line of innocents
pearled in pink and blue. A triangle
of sky is bent between, together
sending a yellow light, falling on the dry
August landscape below.
Yellow like a painting I passed, thinking bad
landscape art because the yellow was
strong on the painted trees. I can see here,
yellow repeating in the thick, green fists of
Maple, Oak and Ash clutched together,
edging down the slope of a hill.
Perhaps, blood red slashes or
bright purple wavers unseen as I drive
gray highways, eyes wide open in another
world. How much do I cut to fit
the narrow frame of this day's life?
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