I had started on this poem about a month ago.
As I was driving to work it was one of those mornings where thick clouds still hung in the air after an early morning rain, and the interplay of light and dark within them from the sun beginning to peek through was pretty incredible. Once I had parked my car I jotted down the first line of this poem and have been trying to finish it on and off ever since.
Yesterday was similar, and it reminded me that I was still working on this, so I finished it.
The rain was still collecting in puddles on the ground, even later on in the evening, so I thought that one of the pictures I took last night at Crown Center might be apropos.
In Patchwork Grey
in patchwork grey a plaided sky
is woven strands of pale spring light
with blackened blur the spindles twine
a coat of cloud for day supine
a cenotaph encased in frost
where warmth was once reputed lost
fast shut for memories to bear
the weight of spring’s long-tarried air
at length the fire of heaven’s ray
to loosen threads of earthen fray
in veiled descent of wrath and love
comes, conqu’ring all, as all doest move.