Cinquain
clouds
rise
to the morning
as earth and sky embrace
for precious moments together
as one
today
fog shrouds this place
obscuring what was known
waiting under leaden skies for
sunlight
the pond
is still and smooth
cloaked in a swirling fog
stirred by a reassuring hand
unseen
a
flash
and then rumble
followed by long silence
a harbinger before the sky
pours down
Butterfly Cinquain
staring
out the window,
losing my train of thought,
reading the same words over and
over,
not sure what to do with myself,
wandering aimlessly . . .
it is like that
grief is
