ELEANOR ROSS TAYLOR

Out of Pain

Black cloud’s corona is so bright
  I keep on reading crown
    instead of cloud, ignoring:
cloud made of crown, of
  inward darkness,
    latent voltage
       suspended drops,
          secreted condensation.

My dry semantics don’t grab cloud;
it goes on gushing hot corona   flame,
ignoring the black yeast
it’s kneading;
                      blinding me,
cries: Read this.  

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   Contributor’s notes

   Fifteen Poems and Drafts Introduction
   In Celebration of Eleanor Ross Taylor