.
those clouds were
smeared hard on the sky, dug in
to the blues like bruised
.
implants and yet it did
not rain on my house.
it did not rain again, clouds
.
hoarding their moisture
as if punishing my small
swath of desert for
.
some muttered insult
that I never did
voice aloud – never –
.
even if I thought it
just briefly in secret, days
ago out of passing
.
disgust, frustration –
surely understandable:
the clouds had sailed on past.
.
the clouds keep sailing
right on past:
rabbits longing,
deer parched,
trees gasping.
.
orphan poems 