Milton's God
Where I-95 meets The Pike,
a ponderous thunderhead flowered- stewed a minute, then flipped
like a flash card, tattered
edges crinkling in, linings so dark
with excessive bright that, standing, waiting, at the overpass edge,
the onlooker couldn't decide until the end, or even then,
what was revealed and what had been hidden.
Using a variety of forms...
Related Subjects
Poetry