Nebulous minds, dimly beget,
fuzzy with worship and tourniquets,
missing rings, and empty nests;
darkening mists in spidery webs.
Clouds grow weary and settle down our heads.
Rain-soaked eyes and splattered brows,
furrowed in thought of thunderous blows.
Lightening bolts have come and gone;
blindness weeps from corners still,
flooding dark our shut tight windowsills.
Sunshiny lips parted and cracked,
exposing our motives with calico breath.
Forces asunder parcel our warmth,
and also abscond, as sometimes suns should;
witnessing aeons of orangey folds at end.
And still amiss, our snow shod hearts,
churlish in flurries of deepening drifts.
Beautiful fallings hide only the forts
we have frozen in fear of showing our parts,
now melted forgetful into apathy ice.
Reflections of selves distilling our breath,
evaporations weakened and gone.
Once and forever, unchanging and still —
It’s no wonder we talk of the weather.