Catching clouds in water butts.
To sate the flora in summery heat.
Puddles of words
Spoken and wrote.
The clouds grey, just like smoke.
Scent of the damp as it rolls over ramps.
The sky unremarkably dark.
Tired day.
Crying sleep.
Short moments till the sky will weep.
I believe.
Maybe the black clouds only deceive.
Caress the nightly mantle.
(c)LIVVI