Wordless Today.

Pink and blue billows, on the poetic sky,
dripping of eager words. Alas, towards dawn
a westerly wind blew, cleared the sky and in
the morning it was as blank as a screen, that
lit up when the sun came through the sky light.

But the sun passes, as it must, and the screen
grays while, in vain, waits to be written on.
to be dreamless is a curse, slow death, listless
looking at sky and finding only blandness, but
also words by other poets that I cannot repeat.