~for VB, who loves mornings like no one else can~

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Cloudbreak

Sky provides a moving mural, Napoleonic battle sized scale,
pudgy fat, creamy cumulus clouds impasto painted permit no hope for a fine day *except
for tiny patch of baby boy blue blanket that mint hints
that there may be hope yet, that summer succor may yet,
be available to all,

If only,
but the gray paste inhabits sky to sky, end to end, making it
impossible to discern a horizon beyond the bay, merging the
flatline water line with the impregnable grey of sky, making a borderline indistinguishable, a single landandseascape

All is blended,
all is merged,
demarcating lines blended and disappeared,
this is morning.

A Oneness
waiting to be exchanged,
swiftly swept out to sea,
an exchange,

for freshly squeezed OJ sun,
and appointment with God,
who demands/commissions a new poem
politely,

a celebration of his handiwork,
Why Else Would He Bother?