a cloudy sky is powerful:
there's unbroken tension in it;
the colours like a bruised thumb,
some god's thumb,
some inker's thumb,
tinker's thumb,
that bruise spilled outward
as clouds
in the act of creation.
crepuscular rays come and go
as cumulus stray,
and the sun blends
the earth
in yellow yolk.
A bright reflection,
a sky full of tension,
a moment
in suspension.
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