Something’s Astir

Monet painted my sky this morning

Coal-black silhouettes are astir,
thimbleless branches quilt an uncertain sky,
stoke hidden valley fires to life

Clouds stray and crackle atop wooden sleighs,
my eye corners a glimmer of a wink
until I blink, and my theater fills

With hooing howls of bitter winds,
or was it a laugh chasing night over
the mountain to his reclusive lair

As I origami a small person
with spindly legs on my lap, and nuzzle
into the morning of her rumpled hair