on a cloudy morning
a mistake in the sun slipped its way backwards
eking out rain
eyeing a fogbank
while people foraged for fabric
crossing fingers and collecting buttons
sewing planets in the sky
harvesting moonbeams
expressing their love in Play-Doh cartouches
while mists of the past reappeared in runes
luring bobby pins from the carpet
entertaining attempts at comic strips and crossword puzzles
guzzling gas and gargling ginger ale
watering down the sap of music
with a deluge of seriousness
that will not do a thing
except disappear
or subtly burn off with the fog
gone like a pinch hitter
grounding out on the first pitch
just before afternoon
had thoughts of beginning
like a sugary cladding
for the unlucky few
who color the shadows with dreams
to coat the surface
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