cloud cover

it is not heat
that greets us,

nor is it the gentle
green of spring. our

seeds sleep beneath
permafrost sheets,

these silkwhite skies
above bleak but brimful.

we have grown weary of
dreams. even this stillness

shivers with possibility.
if all we’ll ever know is

winter, let it billow. bring its
windchill. blow in nimbus

on the lip of spilling.

---

Isaura Ren is a poet from Northern California. She’s just here for a good time. Her work is featured or forthcoming in Mineral Lit Mag, Neologism Poetry Journal, Sea Foam Mag, The Green Light, Electric Moon Magazine, and After the Pause. Follow her on Twitter @isaurarenwrites.