Who moves the Sun beyond confusing clouds
and opens velvet flowers to the light:
revealing cypress, oak, maple and pine
to weary poets forgetful of dreams?
If stars were words obscurely defined
and storms composed complete sentences,
would the unclear water reflect meaning,
or imagine something uninterpreted?
So whomever confounds the broad heavens
and orients the language of the sky
frustrates the reader, and leads astray
exhausted authors chasing understanding.
But a perplexed spirit finds comfort
in the fog that keeps him off course.
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