Sometimes a sky will
mimic the Mississippi River and
sometimes the daytime
cheats on the night,
blood about the arnica seed,
kneading the breasts of the atmosphere
where nightmares clash.
I once saw a sky in Paducah
missing half its face. Mama,
we don't always know volition,
but sometimes the sky will
whistle while it sharpens
its blades for the resolution.
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