Only Clouds

We lurk in each other’s shadows

just out of sight, windshield glare,

ghost halos, shivers of recognition,

breezes through boneyards.

Sometimes I feel like the hood

and sometimes I feel like the deer,

either way crumpled. Nothing

to do but drive on, it’s long past

nightfall, no moon, only clouds,

dumbly they hang, blankfaced,

so even the shadows are gone,

same as when I close my eyes.

About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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