Printed Teardrop

From the look out of a sun stained window The bottom half of thick misshape clouds resemble the motionless hilltop tree line which stands beneath waiting to connect Cradling mashed regret from an inverted credence The mystic pause between overcast and sapling bleeds. The strain of caged expression leaves a trail of mocked kindred As the sun sets on shush Heel and toe mark the shadows. Fear muzzles the sorrow A dense moisture fills the air Birds pass by unsettled to the rumble of thunder. One apology that is blind to see Rough voiced with words that mean nothing to tress And clouds with a space between that seems bottled with connection breathing, "we can't be".