Sunday, June 22, 2014

The Round Clouds

In dusk as blue as deeply cut muscle,
the clouds that bear her falling body
are round and unrepeating, the way
Botticelli’s colors sounded to Respighi,
whole tones calando.

Humid June air swells between
a million small red maple leaves
when she seems most still,
at night, declining among
the venerable people of the skies.