we all say
things we
don’t mean
mean un­til
they are

the clouds over
the switch­grass
 swear they
are just
passin’ thru.

to­day they are
the on­ly or­a­tors
in Oz.

Our words dis­solved
like a dusty
too proud to
lie in the rain.

I’ve been tweak­ing this for quite a while and I can’t get it to where I like it. I hate when that hap­pens. All too of­ten.