Late Summer Storm Cinquain*
then two clouds more
and more till the sky’s all
raindark as your eyes, strobe lightning,
*Back to the cinquain form for a bit. I missed it. Also, another example of how everything we read, everything we experience, leaks back out somewhere, sometime, synthesized in something we make. It’s what makes art both theft, and the longest conversation the world has known; been going on about fifty thousand years now, give or take, with every work being in some small way, consciously or not, a response, an allusion to, or a setting out from a previous one. Here it’s a retrofit of one of Homer’s pet poetic devices, “the wine-dark sea,” to the sky (more on that here, and here)—it made me laugh with delight as as I realized I’d done it.