A Mirror of Clouds

On the valley’s narrow spread
faded grass clings to dirt,
like dust to feet that follow
the path up in to the hills.

River passes with lazy winds,
breath and a scent of distance,
of the forgotten rains that
long to fall as tears on a cheek.

Skies slow as the day closes
the door on sun’s masked face.
How strange it is that sorrow
trails as a mirror of clouds.

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