unvoiced words cast
as shadows
or wilting in the face
of the predictable response
or echoes of echoes
and all this weary smoke
settling over the city
towers and spires
the blood speck sun
thirst is nameable
but this is
not
.
the cloud distinctly a face
suspended over the far valley
blowing out a bellicose wind
and from the summit we watched
smoke churning up like
smoke there’s nothing else
so plain-spoken
yet indirect
billowing up
and then the mountains are gone
benign but no
it isn’t
.
dry-mouthed waking
it’s fine
it’s fine it’s fine
it’s August
just like that
and gets hot early
trudging up the hill
again
I break
into a sweat
OPTIONAL POETRY 
There’s a thread in this poem of something uneasy and ineffable – I love that there’s a word to describe when something is beyond words – it makes things less scary – makes us less infallible – because obviously we’re not and that is something we’d be foolish to deny. Once again dear C, the weather plays upon a poet’s mind!
LikeLiked by 1 person
The strange and hellish inertia of smog is what I like best about this poem, you evoke it beautifully.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Strange and hellish inertia could be so many things this month! Thank you, Pola 🙂
LikeLike
You’re not the only one C, it’ll be alright. ❤
LikeLike
It’s fine it’s fine.
LikeLiked by 1 person