DenverMorning 🌤

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