Scraps From A Ruined Tableau

Cottontail clouds,
fluffy,
soft,
numerous in breeding season,
but moving with all the gentleness
of a newborn baby’s sighs
drifting in Summer’s idle aether…

A breathless bluff as abrupt
in its sheer brokenness
as God’s bleak, unfeeling brow
while crowned with a child’s wagon
overturned onto its dented side,
the squeaky wheel spinning
black and white as
death and life
along the dizzying edge of a
sleepy ravine…

Gusts of air
suddenly flustered
by the frenzied feathers
of a flabbergasted flock aloft
and awhirl as if in dismay
of a black figure with outspread wings
trying to ascend to the heavens
with his frantic downfall…

A little blonde girl
tenderizing the sockets of her
blue eyes
with knotted fists,
each knuckle annointed
with futile tears
for the failed fledgling
she must not glimpse
or else her
sibling sympathies
shall compel her wings, too, toward
wispy air
and, likewise,
unflinching stone.

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