Jan Cunningham


10.13.14

Cloud

Cloud

A blue stain
creeps across
the deep pile
of the evergreens.
From inside the
forest it seems
like an interior
matter, something
wholly to do
with trees, a color
passed from one to another, a
requirement
to which they
submit unflinchingly
like soldiers or
brave people
getting older.
Then the sun
comes back and
it's
totally over.

Kay Ryan, from The Best of It. New and Selected Poems. New York, Grove Press, 2010