Down the Sierra’s spine,
they sneak-in and loom,
cumulus over the ridgeline.

No storm clouds, but friendly.
We know now we’ll never be
the same, never assume

green feed and water
always. We will pray
in our own way, kneel

before the cotyledons
breaking through the clay,
stare rain in the eyes.

And when the chant of pagans
sing, we will make love within
soft petals of wildflowers.



One response to “IN THE CLOUDS

  1. Very nice. I love those last 4 lines beginning with “stare rain in the face”.


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