Regular Intervals to the Sun

There in the distance
At sloping angles to the sky
Jaggedly smooth
Almost weightless
Seemingly indestructible
And unobserved if looked at straight-on
You stood

Smiling like Alice's cat-friend
Well fed on canary
You stood alone
Lonely too perhaps
Celibate but for the wind's
Occasional folly
Fingering thermals upon your skin
No delicate pinkness
Missed as you stood
Smiling
Watching me make a fool of myself

Here in the distance
At regular intervals to the sun
And rich cerulean hued sky

A form you just knew was a Poet's

Rippling to mirage on hot summer days
Dazed
Too stupid to stop penning
Get out of the sun
To move beyond abstractions and words

To a world of lovely girls

Who
There in the distance
Stand waiting
For me to see
Them