Ken Craft

You see them in the mercury
light of water, the expanding
orbs of silver where trout
breathe. You hear
them in the sleepy kiss
of rainfall on pine
needles, smell them
as if they were snow
to the west.

To a Depressed Friend

Sometimes, to make sure
You're still here,
Look up for cloud sustenance.

Be sure they are
Different from yesterday,
From an hour ago,

From when you were 15
And sky didn't matter
Because only pretty girls did.

Note how cumulus
Will be looking down
And naming what

Kind of human you're
Shaped like: mailman,
Archaeologist, student of rain.

On clear nights, rely on starlight.
Pentacles. Pulses.
Further proof of existence.