Poem From a Thrift Store Parking Lot

The clouds look like soft touches from a paint brush, billowy white with pink-blossomed centers. All it takes for me to believe is a sky at dusk, a sunrise or looking off a mountain path to a cascade of trees slanting back down to sea level. Tonight, it’s this color over a parking lot that reveals my God to me. As any true artist knows, it takes planning and creativity to make something perfect. Randomness with art can have its own beauty, but only abstract, nothing like this, and it’s everywhere. Above this quiet color storm plays out while the people walk out from the stores into twilight. I can’t tell how many notice. They pass through your creation like a dinner guest walking by a hallway painting. I pray before it’s over the sky will speak to them. One day, they’ll see the beauty, but not this one. While I’m about to speak my prayer, the colors are already dulling, and darkness slips in.