Morning clouds
by Joseph Somoza
[ poetry - june 10 ]
The sky full of cotton boxes
is so much more
impressive than my mind
this morning - my mind that
sits, apparently, in my head
sometimes giving me headaches,
while, other times, not
waking up enough to notice it's
a new morning this day, similar
to other mornings, maybe,
but arriving just
this once; then, forever,
history - if someone
keeps track of such things:
how a particular morning rose
over a hill or tree while
a certain dove was perching
on a fence-post and someone
rushed to work after an early
doctor's visit - that dove that now
is perching on a roof with
birds of a feather, and the boxy clouds
that now have merged
into a quilt still
gliding north and east,
while morning,
and my mind,
continue west - toward
Arizona, the California desert,
eventually to overlook
the Pacific, and whatever follows
past the edge.
