Yesterday’s unspent rain
And the night’s dew
Weigh down the sky
Above the mountains.
Like wisps of hand-pulled angel-hair,
The fog lies in tufts
Across the eastern ridges.
Higher and farther north,
The whited air brooms
Like the tail of the artic fox,
Into the narrow valleys.
On the farthest and highest slopes,
The sky-fall lies upon the mountain
As thick and heavy as the fur-rich
Winter coat of the polar bear.
The air tastes of frost
And lies upon my cheek
Like the touch of snow.
My breath forms in puffs
Like miniature clouds.
As the words I speak
Roll themselves into visibility,
I ponder the weight of them
As they hang for the moment
Before my eyes.
What if, I think, I could hold these words,
These thoughts, in my hands as solid objects?
What if it were possible to know the spoken word
As if it were tactile? What then? What would we learn
From examining the shape and texture
Of those word-clouds?
What would they teach us about our world?
#WinterandPoetry #CloudsandPoetry
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