by Christopher Raley
Clouds cover stars and pin down earth
in dry stillness the city cannot hope to receive.
It casts its troubled light against their bellies
as if staining them with a longing to be found.
There were years when winter was so cold
we thought it would snow if only first it would rain.
We shivered in levis and rubbed chapped hands
looking up in awkward moments of youth
for the hope of gray boiling over blue.
I had to leave to find a land where storms
fled east across its valley. Battering winds’
silence after rain’s infinity slapping
motivated interchange over the highway shining
like wet skin under two solitary lights.
And beyond the ridge the passing glowed its race
to dark waste upheld in mountains.
But now clouds pin down earth of dry stillness
back in the land of empty sidewalks and suburban houses.
We look up crafting the wisdom of age from the frame
of failed dreams while crossing the driveway
to take out the trash.