A Cloud Portrait
Arms hold the soundless music of the sky.
The lyricism of the soul burns high.
Brief poems dance with distance against space,
Snow interlocks the landscape into place.
I look at you through bare bones of old trees,
Invoke the magic of simplicity.
You write me verses while the moments fall.
White notes that never can my tears annul.
Best that emotions not be said aloud.
You paint our picture on a passing cloud,
Which, like a child, I try to memorize,
Before it fades like winter from my eyes.
Sandra Fowler's Other Poems
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