Dragons Hidden in the Clouds
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

Rafters and ceiling beams collect all the sounds.
The day’s undercarriage somehow bypasses
the linguistic mind. In the morning mountains,

monks cut the stream to the quick and step
out, turning into deer. No matter how hard it tries,
the rabbit always draws the hawk’s attention.

Make the quick leap to escape the closing mind.
The trees pantomiming “go that way,” “no that way,”
are of little help, although stately.

Inasmuch as the unadorned day comes to wake
the garden’s sleepy audience, it also sees
to the downward movement of the stars.

The eye at the center of the door has closed. Let’s talk
about our failures—crying, then laughing.
There are dragons hidden in the clouds.