The posings of a poet.

Feet in the Clouds

It was a drippy
sleepy day
The clouds had found
the best
places to lay
Hear the trilling of
a frog
The steam from my coffee
the fog
The sun rises
and begins to burn
Through the mist
as if its
his turn
The birds just
flit and
hop and
As if nothing
at all
were ever
the matter
It’s just bright
to see my feet
The haze
curls like a cat
who thinks
she’s sweet
Then draws back
into the wood
Then to the sky
to be
where she should
I’m glad she
to alight nearby
Now I know
I can
touch the sky

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5 thoughts on “Feet in the Clouds

  1. I like this. Warm like a nice blanket.

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