The Singing Season

One Moment

At nine o clock  rain feathered down,
swiftly bulking drizzle-weight
I stood amazed, by bin, job done,
hatless, coatless, shoulders wet.

The west was scripted fire on cloud,
foreshortened bases sealed with sun;
the dark blocks floated edict-loud -
what was written yet undone.

The east held arch of rainbow ghost
across the ragged, traveling smoke,
as if to chaos hope held most,
iconic as a Gilliam joke.

Within the arc a ruddy glow
sung evidence of force-field dome,
as if some dream had bent its bow
about a sleeping child's dark home.

Minded how in Hardy's 'Jude',
he climbs a ladder, sees Oxford.
Always bizarre disquietude
realigns us like a sword.

For If I hadn't emptied bin,
I'd never seen the sky so strange,
nor shoulders soaked so shivered in
with thoughts so primed to range.

....................

Doesn't the mind think of the whole world in the clouds?

Rhymes alternately - four beats in the bar. Last line has three - tish!

These pics on my phone are faint compared to the real colors. Sorry.

Google what seems obscure.