Between Rains
Between rains
the ivory carving of clouds
becomes a living thing.
Watercolors wash gilted streets,
dance under wheels,
yet there is no time
for reflection, the singular
interpretations of foreign tongues
of clouded minds.
How many opportunities
never realize the grasp of eyes,
the moist moments
of hesitating smiles?
It comes now without warning,
the wetness washing our bloods,
making them one - a rusting of grass
in summer's soft revelations.
Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2007
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