Deep is the dampness settling upon my brown skin.

A layered onion would not succumb to its 

seduction.

An Oregon rain is persistent, precipitated by

a scowl of dirty clouds, a Creole-colored frown,

its sound preceding as if pitter-pattering feet running

free like caribou on an open plain.

Nothing tastes better than Jovino's Pinot Gris,

recommended by Emily, a wine...

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Come down from among the Clouds

Come down from among the clouds and seat yourselves.

I will set plates for y'all. There will be no wooden flatware,

no metal cups, certainly no raggedy napkins. The ceramic

made in China, flatware in the USA, tempered glass in 

Argentina, and napkins cut and sewn by a little old colored

lady in Little Rock, Arkansas, while her great granddaughter

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