A front is moving in and the sky looks
five times too large for North America
Its light filtered behind fluffy meringue like
Michelangelo cloud composition at first and then
funneled into a tube of foghorn winter wind that
grows darker than the Depression was
In my window screen daydream where
the weather unfolds I sense your cytoplasm
sharing this transformation with me
while all of our apocalyptic memories
silence in mutual loneliness

Written by Sara Fielder © Nov 2015