The skies, today

The skies, today…

Today the skies have misplaced their garments.

They are painted sparingly.

Sun bursts from frazzled sky

and I set shades to my eyes

unable to imagine.

Today the grass is unnerving.

I am waltzing among the hillsides.

This thistle is fresh and bewildered.

As I near the hills where the daylight

is soon crisp, for moments, then stale:

I drink words with my eyes, unable to remember.

A novel idea is not of use this day:

What was preserved until now?

My questions are off balance so I move on.

Ivy limbs are carving into the toppled stones found in each hill.

I could look for hints to erosion in each splintered monument.

Each scene becomes my scene: the hillside is my seat and there are beacons beyond.

Yet, I lack the correct sketches or the useful phrases. I am adrift within Autumn.

Tonight the people waver impatiently

and the bass resounds from the pub

and I grasp at the air

with my smoking breath

unable to wait.

Tonight the buildings are hearing hands

and what is without is gritty

foreign, I am:

I must push forward unskilled questions.