My poem “The Truth of Low-Hanging Clouds,” along with some notes on its origins and inspirations, is up at Pangyrus.
Tiepolesque: is that a word? If not, it should be:
all these clouds stacked up and shadowed blue,
as if the gods had finally deigned to reappear.
It’s easy to imagine them streaming
from the cumuli: that one’s gilt winged shoes and fillet,
this one’s blinding chiton; that one’s hair
a few shades blonder than a stook of wheat . . .
Read More at Pangyrus