No Regard

No Regard

as if the sun were wavering
or the clouds, wrinkling
into themselves

smoke given off by wet grasses
melts through the air,
nothing more than colored
shadows,
then disappears

moss-stricken trees
look down at their toes,
flutter heartless,
and steep in the arbor

a dark gale whispers

i do not listen to the words

i have no regard
for words to the weary,
and anyway,

every day there is a new sky
a new sky, every every day
and every sky has a new face,
one artist’s impression
of the race against time,
or the sun, wavering
or the clouds, wrinkling
into themselves

so when a dark gale whispers
i do not listen to the words
i do not listen to the words


written originally as a poem in 2000 in a red 1994 Celica staring out the window on about West VA en route to the Smoky Mts., TN.