Slatternly clouds disrobe the blue sky, peeling away for storms in another dimension of cool correlations. My causation is staring at me, unblinking. The sky is exactly what I mean when I say I was blue, flying my kite down Main Street and making promises to tree tops. I hear a wind summoning me to the brink of winter, the culmination of the cold leaking in the edges of unsealed autumn.
Miniature Moon 