Even mountains disappear in cloud.
Let’s put on our boots.
Where snow isn’t
heaped up maple leaves shoulder on.
Wednesday, you lie down in a heap of woolen blankets
soggy with dew left in bushes by the homeless.
You are the color of the lingering overcast,
your clouds stretching uselessly over the cold ocean.
Tuesday, you big yellow dog,
I have always loved you and your
whistling sound, your
exuberance, happily second place in the march of days,
In the towering nave of your cathedral
the organ’s dark chords
thunder in kaleidoscopic prisms on the great stained windows