In spite of my jaded self,
wearing Ecclesiastes as a badge
sewn onto velvet sleeves,
The sky knows no
calendar. It doesn’t give
a whiff for New Years.
But damn, those clouds,
puffed sweetly across the sky
seem new. They’re tipped
in mauve on a sky cleansed and blue.
The horizon of our gentle city
is pressed with elemental
Nothing new under the sun?
Of course. The old cranky sage,
if scratched, would admit this:
Goodness is recycled.
if the pictures are from Truro, i am going to break down.
Next year in Jerusalem, Louis! The pictures are from Jerusalem, RI. Thanks for being a faithful reader xo