Dark silver waves above,
A cold wind snaps the spring heat.
Wings of the banded turtle dove
Against the gusts strive to beat
Light fails. Shadows are wiped clean
The air holds no shade or relief
The sun is as though it has never been
For its absence I feel a tint of grief
The dense clouds mirror my sense of phase,
Deadened by relativity and distended dreams.
For now, I glean no hope of a brighter days
Nor grasp of clearer space-time streams
Tomorrow is a separate event
Apart from each and every other, collected
Among a commonality, bent
Around a star. Future and past reflected.