Sails? I think of dogwood adrift
A wrack of soft, petalled cloud left
Wrecked upon arthritic twigs, dropped
There by some recent hurricane.
Veils, almost, but this depends how
They're seen, by what light, even when
Moving through the dining room now
On a first of these Daylight Saved
Evenings, are they gauze? Porcelain
I'm reminded of, reflecting
Flatly, yet brightly, a blanching which
Vanishes if stared at head-on.