The sky blows clouds across its wide, bright, blue expanse.
Big clouds, towering like cliff sides.
Long, thin, curled clouds,
Like dragons with open jaws, snapping
At the airplanes that soar deep in their boiling bellies.
Dusk throws a storm deep into the darkness
Where dragons roar high above us little things.
Way up there, they fight, and blow their lightning fire
And rend apart the blackness to feast on our dreams,
So far beneath them.
In the morning the clouds bell down,
Heavy and somnolent after the rage.
And the fog dragons drift on the lake-skin,
Their breath billowing lazily about
To gather in lost pools in the valleys.
When she stirs, the Girl strokes her hair,
And settles her closer in warm arms,
to keep back the sharp bite of frost.
She breathes a mist on the window,
and draws dragons with the dew.
Tumbling ever softly down.
Danielle K. Day