a sun-fired fringe
burns in bright white
a divine glow shining through the clouds
meanwhile, overhead,
grungy woolen clouds drift
with angrier and less sacred tales to tell
A vein of graphite gray clouds glide — low and fast — under a static white ceiling. No patches of blue peek through, today. Oh, where are those fast blackened clouds sailing at such a clip? And are the high white clouds truly still, or does the contrast with these fast clouds hide some sluggish drift. Maybe the higher clouds are too uniform — stretching out to all horizons — for motion to be seen.
Is this low layer of rushing clouds some kind of smoke monster or a drunkard’s dragon? Seems too motivated to just be water vapor.