six fifty-six

 

Half-night dusk-light

Dims the lingering lilac-white

Rough-cut cloud, not cotton soft,

But dead and dull, dry tufts of hair

A thin-drawn rip in jet-torn sky

Glows deep and fine

As a lamp-lit scratch in a table-top

Then sinks its smoke to smoothness: stops.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s