“Ode to the wounded clouds”
When fall presage returns,
its dim colors mourn under the pale skin as unfinished melodies of spring. The wounded clouds suspend their forced exile into a slow timid embrace, as they hear in tears and deep bliss the turn of the world. It’s the love that started this universe, which shaped moons, stars and all flowers on earth,
the heartbeats of heaven and angels, through rivers of birds
moving and breathing as one.
It’s the light found at dawn,
the unforeseen gift of life
into moments unfolding.
Like undying oaths to dream,
our hands will reach out dormant
into the clouds wounded chest and
not a single breath will ever go unnoticed.
poem & photography by Marco Pignataro