Warning

The sky, layered in textured and roiling grays,
Submerged a dull orange-red
Into the morning's horizon of the lake and
Gave background to water birds
Perching high in February's bare trees.
With necks hooked and silhouetted,
They watched the clouds,
Never seeming to notice
A hawk as it flew by
With a fish in its claws.
The light, limited and superb, escaping
The darkened clouds
Polished the tree limbs shining and
White as crooked bones beseeching the gods,
Furnishing a stage
For the sailors to watch
The birds watching the thunder build.
Cypress trees, void of fronds,
Stood sentry nearby, stately and hard
Against the next
Harvest of turmoil.