The Brooklyn Rail

have you nothing to say to the sky?

or cry as a steadfast

bird loses its feathers on

the grounds that

this is not really

a mountain it is the

eye of a majestic subtlety

          proud

          unfaltering

my hat is taken

by the thieving wind

and a dim storm

shows the corner of its mouth

there is a blue forgetfulness

to be found and

painted a quieter color