A curious flock of small V-shaped
Clouds heading north this morning
Like check-marks risen from the list
Of things yesterday accomplished
With four white porpoises pursuing
And then a gray whale looming near
A fanfare of thunder and lightening
From a distant war but no rain comes
Then nothing but a surfaceless sea
Of blue endless into evening
Surely the gods must be planning
Their next move having dragged us
Into this suspension of disbelief
This wondrous terrible world
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