The house was warm, but down the road,
everything steel-gray – the vast curve
of the bay, clouds thin and skinned,
each streak a pale sister of the other.
The shades have no names, so delicate,
merged, chilled. Darkly brooding,
wading into my poor mind.
I’d understand if there were
only darkness. But that gray shines
bright, perfect for cloud bathing.
AI, they say, will always be smarter
than humans; but humans get to feast,
darkly, on this bowl of mysteries.