Fold, Fold

Fold, fold away the silk-sack clouds.
Put away the sun.
I didn't wish for this brightness
or the mottled blue above.
Tuck the green under,
stack the stems of flowers
behind the shed—
rebuff the lovely summer,
plumes of soft wind,
sheer wash of sheets of rain.
I want to walk free of it all,
striding into a brute clarity:
flat and long.
I want to hurl myself
into empty gorges.
I want to unreel fire
from my lies' aftermath.
I'll fetch the melted watches
from their crutches
like drooping sunflowers.
I'll fold the silk-sack clouds.
Break, break away the scented day.

Copyright © 2008 Mary Crow All rights reserved
from Iron Horse Literary Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission