Ultimately,

these dark clouds

just haven’t the heart to rain.

 

Instead,

they break up,

move on,

like a lynch mob

that comes to its senses,

tosses rope and scaffold,

and goes home.

 

For these clouds,

home is the west,

and they split apart,

ride the wind in pieces.

 

The sky clears.

The air dries.

The innocent go free.