The eastern Rockies sky
Looks like its west
A cloud bank stretches
From pane to pane
Atop which hovers delicately
Foamy white like icing
A few loose strands
Like almost invisible threads
Or perhaps even lint
Or shedded dog hair
Comes and goes as
Quickly and with little
Desire of staying like
Visitors to a hospital
And now as the
Sun makes its appearance
Low and deep all
Of it turns crimson
On this the twenty-first
Of December in Denver
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 