Today the clouds thicken like gravy-
ink blots stain the sky.
Silence after silence unloads
its ill will at my feet.
I am accustom to it
and it has settled.
The sky continues to ashen
as it swallows the pine trees
like a relentless Sandpoint, Idaho snowstorm
consuming all in its way.
The day spills its impressions
like a half-full glass
which leaves me as empty
as an astounding wail
from a 90-year-old woman's
crippled up body.
Categories:
sandpoint, angst,
Form: Free verse