Overcast

The day, of no great merit,
ended — a dandelion gone to seed,
minutes squandered, hours spent,
no bright gold. Yet in the ledgered

plainness of the day, overcast, common,
some subtle brush of meaning
held me. Was it those unexpected
words of thanks, or the single lilac

plunged in a paper cup,
there on a stranger's desk?
Something, a fragrance,
lingered well past dusk.

Jean L. Connor
A Cartography of Peace
Passager Books

Copyright © 2005 by Jean L. Connor.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.

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