My Spirit Animal is a Cloud
Heat as far as the skin can crawl.
Lilac wilted at noon, mind at two.
What calls me to life keeps going--
taking shape, losing it, then trying again.
Nodding off, then back again to notice
the sky has retained its pure drought blue.
Carl Mayfield began writing poems because he wanted to get invited to interesting parties. That has actually happened once or twice, but the parties were paler than they were advertised.
Amethyst Review 